


river crossing

by iooking



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Childhood Friends, Iced Coffee is Queer Coded, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character(s), Parent Castiel (Supernatural), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27709142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iooking/pseuds/iooking
Summary: The antidote to Dean's slump is, evidently, a strange Canadian city in the middle of nowhere with two rivers running through its core and familiar faces that refuse to be forgotten, try as he might.In short, a lot can happen in twenty years.--complete + epiloguethis is largely a love letter to characters who deserved better.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 43
Kudos: 185





	1. the fire of leaving pains

**_so there is longing in the shoulders now_ **

**_there was a wildness in that time_ **

**_can we now say_ **

**_sweet were the hours but hours to find_ **

**_there was no way to live in simple dreams_ **

**_there was no straightness to our lines_ **

**_gravel in hand_ **

**_‘cause darlin’ we’re moving the mountains around_ **

It was Bobby’s idea to have Dean spend some time in Canada.

Virtually everyone around him started to get over their sympathetic phase, reasonably sick of his “moping” (though Dean would _never_ call it moping. He’s coping. In a manly fashion. Man-coping.). He couldn’t blame them, as he was pretty sick of himself as well, having no motivation to speak of and a shocking lethargy around completing even the simplest of tasks.

In other words, Dean is at a dead end. He doesn’t know what he could exactly blame it on anymore; him and Lisa had broken up over 2 years ago, and though it was explosive and messy, it certainly shouldn’t still be that impactful. Sam and Eileen moved to Kansas City so that Sam’s law firm could find a larger, less Republican clientele, but Dean wasn’t upset about that. How could he be? He felt nothing but pride for his little brother’s achievements. Heck, he even helped drive a horrendous U-Haul to get them into their new place, which is a significant sacrifice given his preferred method of vehicular transport.

His career life wasn’t too shabby either, given that Bobby was still employing him, even giving a large portion of managerial duties over to Dean. Being a mechanic was good, honest work, which was his typical answer whenever Sam asked him if his work was “fulfilling” and “meaningful” and whatever other buzzwords he picked up from his stint at Stanford. Dean never quite understood why he had to spend so much time justifying his happiness to others when the answer has always been the same, that everything is perfectly _fine_.

Sure, the monotony of life has him in a sour mood, but even he knows that there was something else nagging at him that was causing these lengthy bouts of depression. It’s the kind of depression that Dean had become quite familiar with – not the glamorized Hollywood style depictions, but rather the simultaneously comforting and debilitating nothingness of everyday life. Whatever face he was putting forward was evidently not as strong a façade as he had hoped. Everyone that knows Dean Winchester in the small town of Lebanon, Kansas, knows him as the archetype of a man’s man: someone who worked with his hands, valued family, and seemed to have everything together (At least, that’s the story he tells himself. What’s a little lie if it helps him sleep at night?). It worked fine for Dean, since he enjoyed the pacifying effect it had on how people treated him, amicably and with distant reverence. Emphasis on “worked”, since clearly, he isn’t as stealthy as he thought. Ultimately, he’s a part of this small town, but nothing that stands out too much.

After finally being convinced to drive up to Kansas City to visit Sam and Eileen for a weekend (which consisted of several phone calls, a _handwritten letter_ , like this was the 80’s, and Bobby giving him the weekend off before he could even ask), he finds himself sitting at their dining room table, flanked on either side by Sam and Eileen not unlike some sort of intervention crossed with an interrogation. Truly, he had walked right into their trap, and the dark of the evening accompanied by the harsh glow of their hanging fluorescent light fixture surely did not help either. It was Sam, naturally, who brought the topic up.

“Dean, I think you should take Bobby’s offer,” he says, his voice verging on the faux-authoritative tone he must use while at work. Instinctively, Dean rolls his eyes, which was truly a gift of being an elder sibling with how appropriate it was as a response to virtually anything Sam has to say. Though, as he takes another sip of his whiskey, he knows he should try and take Sam seriously.

“Listen, Sam” he grunts, rubbing a hand over his face as Sam shares a look with Eileen that basically says _here we go with this shit again_.

“I just don’t see how this is supposed to ‘help’ whatever it is I have going on.”

He takes another sip of whiskey as Sam takes his turn to roll his eyes. “And hey, at least I admitted that something’s going on, right? So maybe I’m not so fucked after all, such that a damn interrogation has to happen between dinner and dessert.” Eileen had baked a pie at just the perfect time for Dean to smell the wafts of flaky crust as he walked in. The whole scheme was far more elaborate than it needed to be.

Eileen sighs. “It’s about getting a change of scenery, Dean,” she starts, and Dean always had a hard time being angry with Eileen, so he relaxes his shoulders a bit, which he doesn’t realize had been so tense. “It does a person good to get out of their usual routine once in a while. It was a big shift for us to move out here to Kansas City, but I think ultimately it did us both good!” she smiles, looking to Sam who returns the smile in that newlywed lovey-dovey way that they never seemed to get out of.

Dean clears his throat to snap them out of their honeymoon trance, but even he couldn’t help but crack a small grin at the two of them – they truly were happy together, and that was all Dean could really ask for.

“Eileen’s right, Dean,” Sam sputters, cheeks flushing slightly from his amorous moment with Eileen. “Besides, it’s 6 months out of your entire life. A blip in the grand picture, really.”

Dean stares down at the remaining whiskey in his glass, the amber colour reassuring and familiar. Dean is not used to taking much advice from Sam, seeing that growing up Dean was the one who practically raised the kid. He chalks up his discomfort to this particular role shift, took another sip of whiskey, and places the empty glass on the excessively artisanal coasters that Sam probably got at the farmer’s market.

“Well, from the way I see it, it’s not much of a change of scenery at all,” he says, trying to level his voice so that he doesn’t sound too angry or defensive, not wanting what was a perfectly fine evening to escalate into something bigger. “From what Bobby told me, I’d essentially be doing contracted construction work, taking orders from some dude in a hardhat, work long hours, and then sleep until the next workday. Aren’t these types of “changes of scenery” supposed to involve, like, lengthy period of ‘self-discovery’ and ‘spiritual searching’? Not hard physical labour?” Eileen laughs at that, likely imagining Dean on a “eat pray love” journey across southeast Asia.

Sam crosses his arms, huffing a breath. “You’re not wrong. But, knowing you, having something to do is probably best. I don’t want to know what you’d end up like without anything to do,” and he looks at Dean with a shit-eating grin on his face. Dean glowers at him.

“Shut up.”

Sam is right, though. The last time Dean had been unemployed, he spent an embarrassing amount of time indulging in the following vices: pornography, alcohol, baking, and annoying Sam as much as possible (who at the time had been studying for the bar exam and did not appreciate it one bit). Now, at the ripe age of 36, Dean has long outgrown his old vices and mostly spends his time cooking or sleeping, the two things he knew he was good at.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve been annoying at all lately, so if that’s the reason to send me away to some True North work camp, then it’s a pretty shit reason, Sam,” Dean laughs, hoping he has cornered Sam enough to end the conversation here and move onto the pie that was taunting him in the adjacent room.

Sam rubs at his temples briefly before sharing another knowing glance at Eileen. Their romantic telepathy makes Dean feel like he doesn’t have the upper hand here. _Perhaps I should have asked for fair representation_ , he thinks, imagining some hot lawyer with a sharp tongue and menacing glare. Before he can delve any further into that litigious fantasy, Sam put a hand on Dean’s arm, squeezing it firmly.

“You know it’s not that,” he starts, and Dean doesn’t want to make eye contact, but his whiskey glass is empty, and the bottle is out of his reach. “It’s been different lately. You hardly respond when we talk to you, you rarely see Bobby outside of work hours, and, hell, even Ellen says you haven’t been to the Roadhouse in months!”

Dean looks up at that, furrowing his brow. “You talked to _Ellen_ about this? What, does the whole damn town of Lebanon know about me now?” Dean levels his gaze with Sam, mustering up as much big-brother-intimidation as he could in that moment. “These things stay in the family, Sam, and you know that.”

“Ellen _is_ family, Dean. Hell, the entire town is our family. People have been noticing that you’re not yourself lately. This isn’t some rumour mill nonsense, Dean. People are worried about you. _We’re worried about you_ ”. Sam stares back with as much intensity as Dean, and you can practically see the sparks flying between their eyes.

Eileen finally speaks up, clearing her throat as loud as she can. Both brothers look at her as she begins signing as she speaks, her signs pointed and louder than her speech.

“This is ridiculous, and you both know it. Dean, your brother is trying to help you and for once you need to consider some goodwill in your life.” She turned her attention to Sam, with the same sternness that she had given Dean. “And you, mister, need to let Dean make the choice for himself without any more nagging. This isn’t gonna go anywhere if you keep asking him about it and it keeps setting him off!”

Crossing her arms, she stares at both of them with the firmness only a woman can possess, causing them both to retreat a little into their shells. Satisfied, she pulls her chair back, standing up.

“Alright, that’s enough talk about _that_ for tonight. It’s pie time.”

Thank god for Eileen.

\--

The weekend progresses relatively normally. It was the middle of spring, and the weather was temperate enough to spend most of it outdoors, including a game of pickleball that Sam insisted Dean try (which, much to his chagrin, was a lot more fun that he wanted to admit). Come Sunday evening, Dean and Sam find themselves sitting in the backyard, drinking one last beer before Dean takes the drive back home. They are silent for a while, just enjoying the cool evening temperature and the beers in their hands. Sam’s backyard is modest, but virtually everything beyond the deck was beds of freshly planted vegetables and flowers. Two apple trees benchmarked the centre of the garden, leaves just barely starting to show. Dean can’t help but be jealous of the fresh produce they get each year (and while they do share some of it with Dean, the drive over isn’t exactly ideal). He thinks back to his own place back home, the apartment he’d been renting ever since him and Lisa had broken up. There was no place to put a garden there, but maybe he could start a small indoor project once he got home.

Dean can tell that Sam was dying to say something, but one thing’s for sure, the boy never disobeyed Eileen, and she had made her point quite clear earlier that weekend.

Dean knew that his brother was only looking out for him, but it was always difficult to accept the help of others. He hated that feeling, the feeling that people could see him struggle or infer that he was in need. Being a big brother suited him well for that reason, as he could adopt the role of caretaker and guide early on, especially with the rocky-at-best family structure of the Winchesters. However, even Dean can see now, as they both age into their 30’s, that his own stubbornness is getting in the way again.

“So, I’ve been thinking…”

“Shocker.”

Dean shoots a friendly glare at Sam before taking another swig of beer.

“Now if you’d let me talk, what I was saying was,” he sighs, avoiding eye contact with Sam – “I think I might take up Bobby on the offer.”

He can practically feel Sam’s toothy grin from beside him. “Oh yeah? What made you change your mind?”

Dean stares down at his bottle, swirling the remaining contents at the bottom. “Well, being out here I guess” he says, turning to look at Sam, scowling at just how pleased he looks. “Okay, yeah, yeah whatever, you told me so. But really, just spending some time away from Lebanon with you and Eileen and seeing how much it lifted my mood, I think it would do me good to get the hell outta there for once.”

Sam laughs, raising a hand to pat Dean’s shoulder. “I knew you’d come around. Besides, you owe it to yourself to expand out of Lebanon, Dean.”

“Hey, don’t go knockin’ Lebanon now, perfectly good town,” Dean responds, barely able to conceal his own smile under his pretend-wounded reaction. He tips back the last of his beer before setting it down. “What were the details of this Canada thing anyway? I barely remember what Bobby told me.”

“It’s a six-month construction gig with Rufus’ company,” ( _of course Sam has a whole spiel ready_ , Dean thinks, resisting the urge to call him a nerd) “and they’re up in Winnipeg doing a job for Rufus’ close friend, so you know it’s legit” Dean nods at that, Bobby and Rufus were both no-nonsense guys.

“They need the manpower and Bobby saw the opportunity to have you take the trip. It’ll be good money, and the rent there is pretty cheap, I already checked for you.” This time, Dean doesn’t suppress his eyeroll before muttering an “of course you did” under his breath. Sam ignores it.

“You’ll be up there from around July to November before it gets too cold to get much of anything done, and you’ll be back before you know it. I’ll handle all the other stuff – getting you a work permit won’t be much of an issue,” he pauses to take a small sip of his beer, trying not to look _too_ excited lest he scare Dean off. “So, if you’re really gonna go through with it, all you have to do is pack your stuff for July and make the drive up.”

Sam downs the last of his beer before looking over at Dean, who’s looking fondly back at him. “You know, Sammy, I really don’t know what I would do without you.” Sam throws his head back in a laugh.

“That’s how I feel about you, Dean. I mean, I can never thank you enough for how much you’ve helped our whole family. Just let us help you this time, okay?”

They clean up the bottles and head indoors, and as Dean is saying goodbye to Sam and Eileen, he turns back to them.

“I’ll do it.”

Eileen gives him a big hug while Sam looks like he won the fucking lottery. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dean laughs, failing to make effective use of his sarcasm. “Just let me know what you need from me, okay?”

Sam’s smile makes Dean feel like he really made the right choice. If anything, he always wants to make sure that his family is okay.

“I’ll text you this week with all the information. I’ll call Bobby tonight, also, while you’re on the road.” Sam pulls Dean in for one last hug before his bags are safely stowed in the back and he’s pulling out of the driveway.

Looks like Dean’s bound for _Winnipeg_ , wherever the fuck _that_ is.

\--

In all his 36 years, Dean never once seriously considered leaving Lebanon. Everything he needed was there, his family, his friends, and the comforts that kept him sane all these years. When it came to sending Sam off to college, Dean knew that his ambitions were too big for Lebanon, but lord knows it was a much harder decision to let Sam go than he let off. Instead, he insisted that Sam was an adult, allowed to make his own decisions, even though he knew Sam desperately needed the approval of Dean and Bobby up until the moment he boarded the plane. He remembers the conversations well.

“Dean, are you sure? I can stick around or go somewhere closer, I mean, not like I _have_ to go to Stanford…”

“Sam, for god’s sake,” Dean barked, trying to mask his true feelings behind familial sternness, “those Ivey league fuckers are literally _paying_ you to go there! And besides, you deserve no less than the best.”

Sam, with his floppy hair falling in front of his face only accentuating his juvenile demeanor, still looked unsure. “It’s not full ride, we’ll still have to find money somewhere, Dean. I mean, I can work out there a little bit, but I don’t want any pressure on you guys!”

Bobby stepped in at that point, placing his hands firmly on Sam’s shoulders. “Listen here, boy,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “You go there and don’t worry about a damn thing except for studying your ass off, okay? Dean and I will take care of everything. You focus on what you have to do, and we’ll focus on what we have to do. Got it?”

Sam looked unsure, but he nodded nonetheless, closing the gap between him and Bobby in a big hug. In any other household, an acceptance letter to Stanford would probably start with hugs, but true to the nature of the Winchesters, they certainly weren’t a normal family.

Later that night, when Sam and Dean were alone watching some reruns on TV, Sam turned to Dean. “You know,” he started tentatively, “About me hesitating about Stanford. I just don’t want you to get too lonely.”

Dean glared at Sam, but the genuine concern on his brother’s face softened him a bit. “You worry too much, Sammy. As if I won’t be hauling your ass back for every holiday anyway. At the latest, you’ll be back for Christmas. That ain’t so bad.” Dean takes a generous swig of his beer, and Sam does the same, which Dean typically wouldn’t allow but good news calls for some celebration. “Besides, not the first time someone’s left. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

Sam studied his face and Dean regrets saying anything.

“Are you talking about Cas?”

Dean felt himself shut off, his expression hardening as he focuses on the sitcom that flickers across their TV screen. He heard Sam sigh beside him.

“Forget I said anything, sorry.”

Dean closed his eyes. Sam was always too perceptive for his own good. Not that he knew the whole truth, but he could always tell when Dean was in a bad mood.

“Nah, you didn’t say anything wrong, kid” Dean finally said after a brief stretch of silence.

“Unlike him, you’ll come back.”

\--

Turns out, Winnipeg’s a whole lot bigger than anything Dean’s experienced in Kansas. It’s strange – it simultaneously feels huge but also like the middle of fucking nowhere, with a sparse urban sprawl that rivalled the drives between towns in Kansas. So far, Canada isn’t too different from the northern midwestern states that Dean had been to before, with the exception of surprisingly friendly border patrol and speed limits in a completely foreign language (to which Dean begrudgingly slowed down a hair just in case, since Canadian cops ride horses and horses are not to be fucked with). The drive up feels a lot like a summer road trip, with the wide-open skies accompanying him along the way. Dean was always the first to defend the prairies, especially whenever Sam came back from Stanford and talked about the scenic geography that partnered his well-earned education. Dean had always hoped that California wouldn’t change Sam too much, so he’s thankful that his brother is at least back in Kansas for the time being.

There’s something magical about the prairies. Where others may see flat, uninspired horizons, Dean sees the tall sky, a forever of blue that insists on a fantastic limitlessness. Driving past sunflower fields, pastures dotted with cattle, and the telltale silver birch thickets of the upper Midwest, Dean can’t help but feel at peace with the world around him. It hadn’t been easy getting him to go, even after agreeing to go through it all with Sam and Bobby, but after Ellen and Jo organized a small going-away party the night before his departure, he knew that he always had something to come back to. He tried to convince Ellen to let him take six months of bacon cheeseburgers with him, but it seems that Dean will have to try and find a decent substitute for the time being.

Double checking his phone for directions (which Sam may or may not have had to teach him to use, given that Dean’s been able to rely on maps of neighbouring states for years, and Sam was unwilling to source him a physical map to Canada), Dean weaves around the foreign streets of Winnipeg. The buildings are not-too-tall, and the streets are barely wide enough, with names in French and road rage curses in English. At some point, Dean had to pull over into a convenience store parking lot to look up the conversion of kilometers to miles after getting honked at one too many times. _I thought Canadians were supposed to be nice_ he thinks, grumbling as he searches for a piece of paper to write down the conversion. Eileen had found him a place near somewhere called the “Osborne Village”, a small offshoot from Pembina highway that snakes its way through the city, right before downtown where Dean would be working. When asking for directions at the convenience store while picking up some snacks, he was warned that the street he would be living on was a notoriously violated one-way street, which Dean did not see being a promise of good things to come. Again, horse cops. Assuming that horse cops deal with routine traffic violations, that is.

After only a few more honks (some in admiration of Dean’s impala he very fondly calls “Baby”), Dean finally arrives at his new place. Situated in a block of apartments on River avenue, on which he did almost turn the wrong way leading to having to take a much longer route than anticipated, the area was nice. Osborne Village, turns out, is a street bordered by various storefronts ranging from Thai restaurants to tattoo parlors. Right at the larger intersection at the northern part of it is a grocery store, a liquor mart, and coffee shops all within 10 steps of each other, which means Eileen had truly considered a location that met all of Dean’s most urgent needs.

The apartment itself is relatively clean. It’s not modern by any stretch, but it provides all the amenities with a significantly more affordable rent than other areas. Thankfully, it’s mostly furnished, meaning this property is likely rented out most of the year. Immediately next to the doorway is a small laundry room, followed by a washroom and a door leading to what appears to be an office. The kitchen connects to the living room, with a small island sectioning off the two rooms. Lastly, the bedroom is to his left. Additionally, it has a private underground parking lot, meaning Baby was much safer than being parked on the street, a requirement Dean emphasized more times than he’d like to admit when Eileen had offered to find a place for him.

After setting his bags down in his bedroom, which sports a comfortable enough queen bed (certainly no match for his memory foam at home – but he’s trying not to be a princess about it), he immediately heads to take a shower. The drive could have been a two-day affair, but it was just barely manageable in a day if he left at the ass crack of dawn, meaning he would arrive in the evening. It is about 8:00PM at this point, meaning all that is left for Dean is a nice, hot shower, some takeout, and a long night of sleep. Tomorrow, he will have to grab groceries and meet with Rufus later in the afternoon to go through some more documents.

His t-shirt was sticky with sweat from the summer weather, and he was more than glad to peel it off and dump it on the floor. His treasured flannels, stored away in his suitcase, would have to wait until the colder temperatures came rushing in. Sam kept sending him articles of how Winnipeg was, at one point, _colder than Mars_ , but Dean’s always believed cold built character. He did pack some brand-new thermal layers just in case, though.

Under the stream of the shower, which didn’t have great water pressure but would do for the time being, Dean washes off the grime that only a road trip can accumulate. After towelling off and throwing on a pair of boxers, Dean steps out onto the small balcony that overlooked the Assiniboine River, just barely able to tell that the river forks off into the Red River to the East, the trademark of Winnipeg. He’s on the fifth floor, giving him a generous sweeping view with enough privacy from the pedestrians down below. Because it’s still the middle of summer, the sun hasn’t quite set yet, and the streets below him bustle with a calm energy. The city is very much alive, but it isn’t hectic in the way New York is portrayed on TV. Instead, he can tell that people are moving at their own pace, doing their own thing, relaxed in their gait. He tries to see if he can see the Thai restaurant he had passed on his way here, and after making a mental map of its location, he slips back inside to find suitable clothes to go back outside.

On his walk towards the restaurant, Dean notices a small coffeeshop nestled in the lower level of a taller building. In fact, it was technically the basement level, but it was preceded by a set of stairs that led down from ground level into the café. He sees that it’s closed, but he makes note of the name. _Family Coffee_. Although there was a Starbucks across the street, something tells him that the coffee at Family Coffee would be far superior. He would be there tomorrow morning to see for himself, but just the small notion of making plans for tomorrow outside of work was reassuring in some way.

After a confusing trip inside an old building where the restaurant was located, which was up a narrow staircase in an ancient building with no logical sense of where things should be, Dean makes his way back to his apartment, eyeing some of the carefree city summer-clad women. If he notices some of the skimpy shorts and thick thighs of several men, then so be it. That would be a conversation to have with himself another time. He did feel a strange ease in allowing his gaze to fall on all sorts of people – something about the city warranted some feeling of safety and freedom. No longer was he Dean Winchester, but instead just some white dude in a world map of people, and for some reason it’s _exhilarating_.

\--

It had been the summer after freshman year when Castiel left.

Dean had known Castiel since they were six years old. Although the Novak family and the Winchester family hardly had anything in common, the two of them bonded immediately. Castiel was a quiet, awkward, but stoic kid who spoke with excessive manners and the diction of a toastmaster. Dean never liked being too rowdy but tended to get in fights due to his uncouth way with words. They both met the summer after first grade, mulling around the forest behind their neighborhood. Castiel had been reading a book under the shade of a tree, while Dean just wanted to test just how far he could go before his dad would come running to find him. Sam had been just 2 years old at the time, and while Dean loved his brother, he needed some time to just play. His dad had finally come home from work, meaning Dean had a little time to play before heading back in for dinner, which would likely be another pizza since his dad couldn’t be assed to cook much of anything.

Dean had noticed Castiel first. He recognized him from school, but they didn’t interact much at all. He was clearly very bright, which made Dean a little intimidated in all honesty. Dean wasn’t dim by any means, but he certainly wasn’t the top of his class if not due to a lack of effort and an exhausting home life. Castiel was alluring, with his dark hair, blue eyes, and strange mannerisms, which resulted in some teasing from other kids. For that reason, Dean felt some kinship towards Castiel, since Dean never quite fit in either. The kids would sometimes say things about his dad or his brother that he didn’t understand, but he always had his fists to fight back. Castiel never seemed to fight back, from what Dean could see, but he also didn’t seem too bothered by the teasing at all.

Castiel finally looked up from his book when Dean’s shadow appeared in his peripheral. Dean plopped down onto the grass next to him, giving the biggest smile he could.

“Hey, I’m Dean!” he said, extending a hand towards Castiel.

Castiel tilted his head to the right, squinting a little. “Yes, I know who you are. Dean Winchester.”

Castiel shakes Dean’s hand with the professionalism of some stuffy businessman, and his hand is warm. He continued to stare at Dean, who didn’t quite know what to say yet, before finally speaking up again.

“Do you know my name?”

Dean laughed. “Of course I do, you’re Castiel. Not sure I remember your last name like you do mine, but I know you’re Castiel,” he said, and he saw Castiel’s lips quirk into a small smile.

“Though, Castiel’s a lot of sounds to say. How ‘bout I give you a nickname?”

Castiel’s eyes got wide and Dean swore he could see the boy blush a little. “Uh… I mean, I suppose you could. Unless it’s something mean.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m not gonna be mean. So, what book are you reading there, Cas?”

They chatted about wizards and elves a little while longer until Dean heard his dad call for him from their backyard. Castiel, or Cas, who lived nearby, got up as well and before he could go, Dean grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Hey Cas, wanna hang out tomorrow?” he asks, trying not to look too nervous.

Castiel smiled, clutching his book to his chest. “I would like that very much, Dean. See you tomorrow.”

As Dean cuts a slice of pizza into small pieces for Sam, he can’t help but smile at the thought that he’s finally made a friend. His dad had already passed out on the couch, so Dean made sure to save a few pieces for when he woke up, before getting Sam ready for bed.

It went on like this for the whole summer, with Castiel sometimes hanging out at Dean’s house, and vice versa. Mr. and Mrs. Novak were quite charmed by Dean, while John Winchester was barely around to meet Castiel in the first place, but Dean was so happy to finally have a friend he could confidently enter the school year with.

Eventually, the two were so inseparable that virtually everyone in town knew them as “Dean and Cas”, like a cool cowboy duo (or a pair of brilliant detectives, in Castiel’s imagination), and from buying candy at the convenience store to spending hours in the library stacks, it seemed that they had truly found a friend for life in each other.

This, of course, would turn out not to be true, but even stories that end in anger can still be cherished for the moments in-between.

\--

Dean’s alarm rings right at 7:00AM. The bed proved to be suitable, given his lack of achy back as he crawls his way out of bed to face the day.

When Dean had bought the memory foam mattress back in Lebanon was when he knew for certain that he was getting old. Now, he’s careful with the way he treats his body, knowing he can’t drink like he used to, nor expend his body for hours in the garage for some meager overtime. Dean hopes Rufus knows he’s past his prime, but he knows he’s in for a lot of manual labour, so adding to his to-do list is to find a decent gym to keep his body somewhat in shape. He considers going for a run this morning but scraps the idea since he’s never been a _running guy_ , and some things just don’t change, no matter how far from home you are.

After getting dressed, Dean realized he had nothing to make breakfast with. He remembers Family Coffee, just steps from home, and crosses his fingers that they have some muffins or something to suppress his appetite until he can get some proper groceries. Dean takes a glance into the mirror, noticing his two-day scruff getting a little long for his liking, which he would have to deal with before meeting up with Rufus. Even if he’s known the man forever, he still wants to give a good impression. Dean was never one to operate on favors, after all.

Stepping out into the sunshine, the sun is warm but the morning breeze a little nippy, but Dean knows this is the kind of weather you can’t really properly dress for – in a few hours it was going to be scorching hot anyway. A fitted black t-shirt and jeans would be suitable for everything he had to do today. No matter how hot, though, Dean will never be caught dead in shorts. His legs and shorts are disagreeable.

Tracing his steps back towards Family Coffee, he takes the staircase down and sees that the café already has a few people inside. He remembers that it’s still a Thursday, meaning that people are likely grabbing coffee before heading to work themselves.

When he steps inside, he sees that it’s small, with one wall making up the entire bar, fit with two espresso machines and cupboards of different coffee beans. Alone the other wall was a series of tables pressed up against the wall, and right at the front is a small perch of stools that lookout onto the street above. It’s small, but clearly a well-loved place. The paint is a light blue on some old brick, and the floor a muted tile pattern, which Dean appreciates. Too many cafés have creaky, uneven wooden floors that drive him absolutely insane.

He takes a place in line behind two people, checking his phone for texts from Sam. He types out a quick text to let him know he’s awake and getting coffee, and that he’ll tell him if it’s any good. While Dean appreciates a good cup of joe, Sam is definitely the bigger coffee snob. Likely another effect of his Stanford tenure, but Dean doesn’t mind since it means Sam never takes him somewhere with crappy brews.

Once he makes his way to the front, he looks up to see a young barista with blonde hair, lazily swept to the side of his face. He has one of those faces that seem to always be smiling, and something in his face feels incredibly familiar to Dean. The slope of his eyes, the shape of his nose…

Cas.

The boy looks so much like Castiel that Dean loses focus for a second, before the boy tilts his head to the right in the _same way Castiel used to_.

“…Hello?”

Dean jumps, realizing he was likely staring. He slaps his cheeks and quickly mutters “Mornings, huh,”, hoping the barista would ignore his blatant ogling. The barista laughs.

“Hello!” he says, in a weirdly formal tone that Dean does his best to ignore in the long list of uncanny similarities. “You had me worried there for a second!”

Dean laughs, and he’s embarrassed by his sheer lack of cool in a place he had hoped to visit more than once.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that, uh…” he looks at the boy’s small nametag clipped to his apron, “…Jack. You just reminded me of someone I know, is all.”

Jack smiled at that. “I’ve heard that I have ‘one of those faces’ a few times now!” and Dean has to add the unnecessary finger air-quotes to that already far too longlist. “What’s your name?”

“Dean. Just moved here, so chances are we don’t know each other” he chuckles, glad that the kid hadn’t made it weird. After ordering a black drip coffee, a blueberry muffin, and an eerie “Hello, Dean!” from Jack, he moves to the other end of the bar to wait for his coffee, before being approached by a woman with bright red hair, lobbed short to the chin.

“Sorry, did I hear that you just moved here?”

Dean looks up, then down when he realizes the person speaking to him is a bit shorter than him. She’s wearing a graphic tee emblazoned with the Star Wars logo, which is a good sign for Dean, and black jeans.

“Yeah, just got in yesterday, here for a few months with work” he responds, flashing his best charming smile at her. It’s a bad habit of Dean’s, immediately relying on physical flirtation when met with new people. Perhaps it’s an easier way to keep himself guarded from strangers, but he makes a mental note that he probably shouldn’t flirt with people in a café that he plans to be a regular at. Luckily, his smile seems to have no effect on her, as her face remains cool.

She extends out a hand and Dean shakes it. “I’m Charlie,” she says. “I heard your name back when you were talking with Jack, not to eavesdrop but Jack tends to speak REAL LOUD when he’s doing his customer service thing,” and she shoots a pointed look at Jack who just smiles big before going back to making coffee. Dean chuckles at that, and despite all the unnerving similarities, he can’t help but be fond of Jack and his chipper attitude.

“If you want good coffee, though, you’re definitely in the right place. Miles better than Starbucks, and cheaper too,” Charlie continues, and when Dean’s coffee arrives at the bar (with a smiley face drawn in marker by Jack on the cup), he decides that Charlie’s claim tracks.

“Oh damn, that’s good,” Dean groans, making Charlie laugh around her own iced coffee.

“Told ya. Anyways, I’m around here a lot so feel free to say hi. Happy to answer any questions about Winnipeg, we’re a weird city but I think you’ll like it. Where are you coming in from?”

After a bit of small talk, Charlie says that she has to head off to work and leaves Dean with a phone number. While getting a phone number from a cute girl would usually mean something specific for Dean, Charlie felt different. She seemed to really have his best interest in mind, even though they had just met. Pocketing the number, he takes another sip of his coffee before heading out himself. As he leaves, he hears,

“Goodbye, Dean!”

He turns around to see Jack holding his hand up in some kind of stationary wave, smiling like he always is. Dean gives him a nod before slipping out, ignoring once more just how unbelievably similar Jack was to Castiel. Someone Dean often remembered but tried his best to forget. All things considered, Jack seemed like a good kid, so Dean was set on not letting this ruin his Winnipeg experience just yet.

\--

When he meets Rufus at the construction site, he didn’t expect to pull up to such a big lot. The place, which formerly was called “Portage Place”, apparently used to be a giant multi-level mall that included the only IMAX movie theatre in the city. However, driving through downtown, Dean could tell that this city was going through something. The architecture clashed with each other loudly, with some buildings looking like they came straight from the 19th century, with ornate columns and bronze detailing, and others glitzy and modern with sharp lines and glass panelling. The driving is also horrendous, and Dean makes a note to walk as much as he could, as it wasn’t too far from where he was staying. Baby didn’t deserve the chaos of city living, that much was certain.

Rufus is waiting for him inside a small container-office, the same kind he used to visit when he worked for Rufus back in high school for summer. Rufus stands up to give Dean a hug before motioning him to sit in the chair across from his desk, which is cluttered with papers and file folders.

"Good to see you, Dean! Feels like it’s been a while,” Rufus says, smiling as he sits down in his far too small office chair. Dean feels a pang of guilt at that – he truly had been pretty reclusive like Sam had said, meaning he only saw Bobby at work, the occasional customer, and no one else for several months.

“Yeah, sorry about that. But I’m glad I’m here, guess I needed a change of scenery,” he says with as much levity as he can muster.

Rufus gives him a knowing look that arrests Dean but also calms him down, knowing he doesn’t have to have his guard up around him.

“Now, there’s not much to talk about,” Rufus starts, shuffling a few papers before handing a stack to Dean. Dean takes the papers and reads the first page, which reads:

_Portage Supermarket_

_The First Downtown Grocery Store_

Looking back up, Rufus is looking at him expectantly. “That’s right,” he says, “The first grocery store downtown. This city is a strange one, and for the longest time they haven’t had a proper grocery store for their downtown population, making it essentially a food desert.” Dean remembers Sam talking about something similar after he had taken some ecology course at Stanford. Something about gentrification and capitalism that mostly went over his head, though the basic concepts Dean understood.

“It’s severely impacted the First Nations community here,” Rufus continues, and he must see Dean’s confusion as he clarifies, “It’s what Canadians would call natives. Or Indians. Though, that’s not really politically correct much anywhere these days. Anyways, it’s been a huge struggle to get something like this built here instead of, say, luxury condos, so just know that this project is a really big deal, Dean.”

Dean nods. “Seems like the kind of problems only a big city would have, huh,” he ponders, thinking back to the simplicity of Lebanon. He would have to ask Sam about this stuff when he next calls him. Rufus nods in agreement, before shuffling a few more papers.

“Now Dean, I’ve worked with you quite a bit and I know you’re capable,” he starts, and Dean knows where this is going, bracing himself for the impact.

“You’re capable, but you’re no spring chicken.”

And there it is. Another morbid reminder of his aging. He laughs it off, since it feels rude to contemplate his mortality in front of someone much older than him.

“Yeah, I guess I’m not at my prime, that’s for sure.” Dean looks up and Rufus is smiling at him.

“That’s exactly why I want you to take a more hands-off approach. Dean, I trust you to lead some teams around here. A little project management so to speak. The tasks are quite simple, and the building is hardly an innovative blueprint. Think you can handle that?”

Dean blinks, and he could kiss the man right now. After months of loathing the day-in day-out labour and the toll it would take on his body, he finally relaxes his shoulders before vehemently agreeing to Rufus’ proposal. After signing a few more papers, Rufus lets him go, saying to meet him here first thing Monday morning.

As Dean climbs back into the impala, with a new stack of homework to tackle this weekend, he breathes out a sigh of relief. He had managed at Bobby’s for a while and definitely knew the ins and outs of construction work well enough to handle this project. He silently crosses out “find a gym” from his to-do list and drives Baby down to the grocery store before the after-work rush.

\--

By the time freshman year rolled around, Castiel was a common fixture at the Winchester household. After Castiel’s parents went through a rather nasty divorce, he often found Solace in the Winchester’s living room, playing board games with Sam or just getting through homework with Dean. They hardly ever saw John, which Dean accepted as being their new normal. He always wondered if Castiel hung around to help because his dad was never around, but Dean was never one to operate on favors, so he never let him help out too much.

By this point, Dean and Castiel did everything together just like they did as kids. To the outside observer, they could not be more different, with Castiel’s stoicism ever unwavering and Dean’s rough edges always on display. As Sam got older, the three of them would be common fixtures at local hangout spots, riding their bikes through the quiet streets after hours with no one to call them back home.

So, it truly came as a shock when one day, just the two of them in the shade behind the convenience store on a hot summer day near the end of the school year, ice cream dribbling down their hands that Castiel tells Dean that he’s moving away.

Dean dropped his ice cream cone, his stare fixed on Castiel who can only look at the ground.

“Whaddya mean ‘moving away’? Where are you going?”

Castiel, seeing Dean’s dropped ice cream come, dejectedly tossed his next to it. “Mom says she needs to get out of here. Away from dad. Says there’s no future for me here.” His voice was bitter and on the verge of tears, a state that broke Dean, who’s so used to his friend’s calm confidence and reassured composure.

“She wants to move to North Dakota.”

Dean could hardly believe the words he’s heard and could only manage to gawk at Castiel as he finally lifted his head to look at Dean, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes.

“But I’m here! We were gonna finish high school together, Cas, we were gonna do this whole thing together!” He wanted to yell, but his voice came out quiet and hoarse, as if he had already been crying. He scrambled over to Castiel and pulls him into a tight hug, feeling his tears wet his shoulder. “You can’t go, you can’t go, Cas,” he repeated, an incantation that he hoped would conjure a spell that would wake him from this nightmare. He felt Castiel cling to his shirt, and they’re both trembling.

They stayed like that for a while until the ice cream started attracting flies. Ms. Novak planned to move out in a week, perhaps driven by a state of post-divorce hysteria that led to rash decision making, but there was no way Castiel would stay in Lebanon with his dad. His mom was making the whole move about Castiel, anyway.

The last few days before Castiel leaves, they were more inseparable than they already were. News of the move spread quickly throughout the town, and in order to avoid any more sympathetic platitudes, they escaped to the forest behind their homes. Sitting in the piles of dead leaves and branches, secluded from the rest of the town, they talked about anything except the move. They talked about Lord of the Rings, about Anna who Dean had been seeing on and off throughout freshman year, like his own television high school drama.

Castiel asked Dean if he loved her. Dean said he didn’t know. He remembered that Castiel looked at him and said, _If anyone would know, Dean, it would be you._

Some days, they simply laid there in silence. When John found out, Dean thought he saw the smallest flash of sympathy before he grunted out “Shit happens, Dean, you gotta be a man and deal with it.”

They talked about how fucked up their families are. How Dean’s father is an alcoholic and Castiel’s mother might be on the verge of it too. They talked about whether or not they want to try the drugs that the older kids do at school. Dean was morbidly curious about weed, but Castiel didn’t show much interest.

“Would you try it if I tried it?” Dean asked, looking at Castiel, and his too-blue eyes and too-messy hair.

Castiel pondered for a moment, tilting his head in the way that Dean loved.

“I would try it for you, Dean. It’s certainly better than doing it alone.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile at that, at his best friend, his best friend with his too-polite manners and too-baggy clothes, his best friend with a stare that could freeze anyone cold but only ever made Dean warm. Dean couldn’t help it when he inched closer to Castiel, heart thumping and face flushing before their lips brushed together.

And maybe Castiel reciprocated. And maybe they linked hands and kissed a while longer. It was all a blur for Dean.

But when Castiel left, he left for good.

\--

On Friday, Dean drops by Family Coffee, where Jack is working again and chipper than ever. The same mannerisms that Dean refused to think about resurface in their short customer service interaction, and by the time he’s out the door, he feels a strange weight in chest. With the good news from Rufus yesterday, he had been in a much better mood, perusing the grocery store for things to stock in his fridge for a few weeks, maybe splurging on some good whiskey at the liquor store as well.

Jack, for all intents and purposes, is a delight. If only he didn’t remind him so damn much of Cas.

Dean spends his Friday morning poring over the documents Rufus had given him, and once his head starts to pound from reading small print and foreign diagrams, he decides to take a walk.

After slipping on a clean white t-shirt and some jeans, he steps back outside around noon, the sun high and bright. He’ll have to remember to buy a hat and some sunglasses, two things he left at home, cause the squinting-through-the-sun thing wasn’t going to be an effective long-term strategy. He decides to drop by the café once more, but Jack is no longer working (instead a young woman named Kaia with perhaps the exact opposite temperament to Jack), and he grabs an iced coffee to go. He had seen Charlie drink one the other day, and he trusted her judgment as much as he trusted anyone else in this city. As he climbs back up the stairs toward the sidewalk, he pulls out his phone to call Sam, who would be on his lunch break.

“Dean!” Sam answers, “How’s it going? How’s Canada treatin’ ya, eh?”

Dean rolls his eyes at his brother’s sad attempt at the Canadian stereotype. “I don’t think that’s how you use ‘eh’, Sammy.” He takes a sip of his iced coffee, and indeed, it is delightfully refreshing. He may be a changed man.

“Everything’s alright, just wanted to check in with you. The café I told you about is definitely my new spot.” He hears Sam laugh over the receiver. “Though, there’s something seriously weird about the barista there.”

“Weird? Should I be worried?” Sam asks, and Dean huffs a laugh under his breath.

“Nah, nothing like that. It’s just that literally everything he does is eerily similar to Cas. Like, the politeness, the head tilt, all of it. He’s like a little happy blonde Cas and it’s kinda freaking me out.” Dean crosses the street towards a bridge that crosses the Assiniboine River, which he had driven over the other day. He had noticed that there was a lot of walkable greenery around there, and he wanted to explore it on foot.

He can hear Sam make a surprised noise over the phone. “So,” he clears his throat, “somehow you’ve managed to find the Canadian Cas in the form of a barista? That’s honestly pretty funny, Dean.”

“Not funny, it’s freaky!” he barks back at Sam, who’s laughing again. After the bridge, Dean turns right towards a fountain that seems to be part of a larger, more decorative building.

“Whatever you say man, it’s just that I haven’t heard you talk about Cas in years. Caught me off guard. Is the topic no longer blacklisted?” He can tell Sam has that shit-eating grin on his face and Dean wishes he could teleport back to Kansas to wipe it off himself.

“It was never ‘blacklisted’, Sam” he sighs, “I just never had much of a reason to talk about him is all. It’s been 20 years since he left town, and we haven’t exactly been in touch since.”

“Well, even so, he was an important part of our lives, Dean,” Sam replies, and Dean can’t deny that. Sam didn’t know about that one day in the forest, but Cas was just as much Sam’s friend as he was Dean’s. “You never seemed comfortable talking about him, but I think it would do you good to talk about Cas more.”

Dean groaned as he found a small bench bordered by topiary that faced the large fountain, a gentle mist coming off of it towards him. “Yeah, whatever, Sam. Anyways, enough about Cas. How’s things over there?”

The conversation continues through Sam’s lunch hour as Dean explains his new role under Rufus and Sam talks about their garden’s bountiful harvests. After Dean lets him go and ends the call, he feels lighter. _Thank the stars for advances in telecommunication_ , he thinks, because he had assumed that he would be bound to shaky Wi-Fi being in a different country.

Looking around, Dean realizes he’s sitting in the park surrounding the legislative building of the province of Manitoba. The building, tall and ornate in the same way the older buildings downtown were, was topped with a golden statue of a figure holding what appeared to be a bundle of wheat. Something about the architecture looks like it was made with seven different ideas in mind, but Dean supposes that’s in character for Winnipeg – a strange disjointed city that finds some kind of harmony in all its mismatches.

Walking the perimeter of the building, Dean eventually turns right towards a street named Broadway, bustling with businesspeople getting back from their own lunch hours. The trees that dot the sidewalk are big canopies of shade, some of them overgrowing their roots through the cement of the sidewalk. Dean can’t help but think of Rufus’ earlier comments on the city. Something about the city always feels like a clash, a conflict, but it seems perfectly comfortable with this discord. In the way the buildings fight for aesthetic sense and the roots fight for room on the sidewalk, Winnipeg feels like a city that’s unresolved.

As he continues to walk, he sees another set of stairs similar to the ones leading to Family Coffee. Curious, he peeks over the banister and his eyes nearly bug out of his head as he reads the sign above the storefront, which reads:

_Two Truths and a Pie_

Scrambling down the stairs, Dean feels his heart race as he opens the door. The store is even smaller than the café, with nowhere to sit making it take-out only. A giant glass display at the front shows at least 10 different types of pies, and Dean could cry with happiness.

Well, that solves the problem of finding lunch.

After two slices of pie, one apple and one saskatoon berry (which might be good enough to have Dean permanently move to Canada), Dean is more than satisfied. Looking at the time, and realizing he hardly has any other responsibilities besides going through some more papers for Rufus, he decides to head back home and take a well-deserved nap. Afterwards, he plans to text Charlie and ask about what the good bars around him are.

Winnipeg has been too good to Dean so far.

\--

It was the summer before freshman year when Dean opened the front door to see Castiel standing there. This wasn’t an unusual sight, but it was late in the evening, and Dean could tell from Castiel’s posture two things: something as very wrong, and he absolutely did not want to talk about it.

While Dean has always been known for his stubbornness, Castiel was equally if not more stubborn when he wanted to be. Dean pulled him inside, leading him to the kitchen where Sam was sitting, taking a cookie cutter to sheets of pale cookie dough.

“Sam wanted to make cookies,” Dean said, doing his best to hide the concern in his voice. “Wanna help? We still gotta decorate these bad boys.”

Castiel stared at the small bowls filled with sprinkles and chocolate chips that Dean likely lifted from the convenience store earlier that day, and he managed to crack a small smile.

“I would like that very much, Dean.”

Once the cookies were baked and Dean had cut Sam off and sent him to bed, him and Castiel were sitting on the couch in the living room, a familiar tableau of the two boys sprawled out with some random reruns flickering on the screen.

Dean knew that Castiel didn’t want him to ask him what’s wrong. He knew that his company (and silence) were the best things he could offer to his best friend at this time. They stayed silent until Castiel fell asleep on his shoulder, the distance between them having closed over the course of the evening. Dean turned the TV off before glancing at the clock – it was already 11:00PM, meaning that if John wasn’t home by now, he probably wouldn’t be home until tomorrow.

And maybe Dean lightly kissed the top of Castiel’s head the same way he does with Sam. And maybe he felt Castiel shift to nuzzle closer to him. And maybe Dean fell asleep to the sound of Castiel’s breathing.

And maybe when Sam found them the next morning, he made a face at them, accusing them of cuddling. And maybe Dean threw a couch cushion at Sam while Castiel laughed at how red Dean’s face was.

One thing was for certain in Dean’s memory, though. When Mrs. Novak came to look for Castiel, she had the same stench that wafted from John most days. Castiel seemed frozen while his mother slurred through her words until Dean managed to convince her to let him stay a while longer. After they watched through the window to make sure Mrs. Novak made it back home safely, Castiel hugged Dean and muttered a simple “Thank you”.

Dean squeezed him tight, in a way that he hoped would communicate the things he didn’t want to say out loud at that moment. That Dean could be all that he needed in that moment, and for any other moment in the future.

He hugged him like he was the only thing keeping sobbing boy from falling apart.

He hugged him like he was afraid of losing him.

The years after he did lose him would mark several changes in Dean’s life. He barely attended his classes, not wanting to roam the halls that were now void of Castiel. Shortly after John stopped showing up at all, and Bobby decided to take the boys in, moving out of the home that used to be their place of solace. Dean worked odd jobs for Bobby and Rufus in order to distract himself from the ever-present emptiness he felt inside. He finally started working on the impala that John left at Bobby’s lot, which he wouldn’t know until years later that John left to him before he passed. He and Castiel (well, mostly Dean) would ramble on about how they planned to fix it up and take long road trips in the summer of their senior year.

He never heard from Castiel again, and although people were finally starting to use e-mail, it wasn’t like him and Castiel ever had a need for it. He had no way of contacting Castiel, which provided a convenient excuse for the fact that he didn’t really want to reach out at all.

Castiel left, like all the other people in his life left – without proper warning and with no intention of coming back.

And if Sam sometimes saw Dean sitting under the same tree that he first met Castiel, just to watch the world turn slowly in the sleepy town of Lebanon, Sam definitely didn’t mention it.

\--

Saturday morning rolls around, and Dean indulges in sleeping in, eventually resigning to lazily scrolling through his phone until he could no longer ignore the rumbles of his stomach. He had spent some time with Charlie at a small bar called The Nest about a 15-minute walk from his place, which was far too fancy with overpriced cocktails and fairy-light outdoor décor. Dean definitely stuck out like a sore thumb among carelessly cool young people sipping on excessively overpriced concoctions, and he was definitely the only person in jeans that were straight cut. He resigned that he would probably not get drunk here if only for the sake of his wallet ( _why is a glass of syrups and tequila $15? That shit better have gold flakes crushed diamonds),_ but he thoroughly enjoyed Charlie’s company. She had admitted that she chose the location in hopes of impressing Dean, and it definitely wasn’t the best spot, but it would be quiet and peaceful enough to hold a conversation.

Dean also learned last night that Charlie’s a lesbian, sorry, a _gold star lesbian, she insisted_ , and after scoping out the various women at the bar, it was clear they had shockingly similar tastes. Given the other clientele at the bar, Dean quietly wonders if Charlie brought him here because she thought he was, well, not exactly straight. For some reason, the thought of being read that way doesn’t bother him as much as it would have back in Kansas. Charlie wants to head to another spot, but Dean decides to head home, using his age as an excuse, but he knows his promise to see her again is genuine. He knows good people when he sees them.

Padding his way towards the kitchen, he pulls out a pan and places it on the stovetop. It’s one of those new ranges, flat and black with circles indicating where to place things. Dean grumbles that nothing is as good as a gas range, but he figures it will suffice for now. As he cooks up eggs and bacon, he cracks open the window, and the sounds of the city waking up waft in. one of his neighbours is playing what sounds like gentle Latin music. He hears the shrieks of children playing down below, the muted sounds of Saturday morning cartoons as the backing track.

Sitting at the kitchen island, Dean takes his time with breakfast. In the months that had Dean is his weird funk, Dean had spent a lot of time in the kitchen. The task of cooking would keep his mind busy in a way that didn’t feel too frivolous – man’s gotta eat after all. From perfecting a crispy sunny side up egg to the creamiest scramble, each day he would indulge in some sort of small culinary adventure. Perhaps it was this that also kept him from feeling like he was truly in a rut, though given that he never shared his meals with anyone, no one would know just how he was keeping himself busy.

Being closed off from the world back in Lebanon is markedly different from Winnipeg. Dean’s absence at his usual spots, according to Sam, unfortunately did not go unnoticed. Here in Winnipeg, however, no one would notice if he stayed home for months on end, and the anonymity of a new space thrills him a little bit. Dean’s never been truly anonymous his whole life – someone’s nose was always in his or Cas’ business at some point.

Although the fantasy of continuing a life of isolation in Winnipeg was tempting, Dean remembered Sam and Eileen’s insistence that he get a change of scenery, and he doubts that they meant staring at the beige apartment walls for six months. Tossing his plate into the sink, he gets up to take a quick shower, before resolving to at least drop by Family Coffee before exploring more of his neighborhood.

Digging through his suitcase, Dean finds a clean gray t-shirt and a pair of green trousers that he had bought because they had a slightly elastic waistband (sue him, he likes to eat, okay?). The cut and material feel very similar to any worn pair of jeans he had, and he figures now’s a good of a time as any to wear something that isn’t the same two pairs of jeans in rotation. After running his fingers through his hair while staring at the mirror, Dean realizes he would have to find a barber some time during his stay, otherwise his hair would start to do that middle-part thing it did whenever it got long. He had grown it out one summer, but after the incessant teasing from Jo that he looked like a low-rent DiCaprio, he retired the look for good.

As he steps into Family Coffee for the fourth time, he sees that both Kaia and Jack are working, which makes sense with the usual rush of customers on a Saturday. It’s just past eleven in the morning, with a varied group of early risers and people who are just waking up. Dean stands in line, giving Kaia a quick wave and a smile that she mostly ignores. Checking his phone, he sees a new picture from Jo at the Roadhouse with Ash, Ellen, and Bobby, captioned with “wish you were here!”. Dean can’t help but crack a grin as he types back a “miss you all too” before walking up to the register.

“Hello, Dean! Happy Saturday!” Jack beams, his smile as infectious as always. He sees Kaia roll her eyes as she walks behind him, though Dean can tell that she’s secretly fond of him as well. As Dean tries to decide which cookie from the display case he wanted, Jack being wildly unhelpful in making a decision as he insists that _all cookies are good cookies, Dean_ , the bell above the door chimes signalling a new customer. Jack swivels his head towards the door as Dean finally decides on a classic oatmeal cookie, and he hears Jack say,

“Hello, Dad!”

As Dean stands up, he hears something thud on the floor, and when he turns around towards the door, he freezes.

Because next to a briefcase that has toppled over onto the floor stands Castiel Novak.

Castiel’s expression mirrors the one Dean feels is on his own: jaw dropped, eyes bugged out, and brows reaching for their respective hairlines. Dean takes in the image before him – Castiel is dressed in a fitted white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top and tucked into a pair of black slacks. His chest has filled out, and the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt emphasize his strong forearms. His hair is as messy as ever, and his eyes still the same too blue that Dean had loved. He has a permanent five-o-clock shadow, and he couldn’t tell if it was just the light, but his skin looks more tanned than it had in Lebanon.

Before Dean can think of something to say, Kaia interrupts their stare down with a curt nod, greeting Castiel with a “Hey, Dr. Novak”. This snaps Castiel out of his trance, as he scrambles to pick up his briefcase, mumbling out a quick hello back to Kaia. Castiel starts walking towards Dean, his expression unreadable as always, and as much as Dean wants to close the gap and sweep him into a bone-crushing hug, he can’t seem to move from his spot. Something restless inside him is keeping him rooted firmly on the ground that where he stands. Castiel stops in front of Dean, offering him a small smile.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas.”

\--

Jack tries his best to connect the dots while Castiel pays for Dean’s iced coffee and cookie, ordering an iced coffee himself. The café was pretty full, so Castiel tells Dean to wait outside by the steps, where a few people were perched as well. The whole interaction feels weirdly cordial, in the kind of way that you might interact with a co-worker you see outside of work. Dean watches as Castiel converses with Kaia and Jack inside, trying to avert his eyes from his broad shoulders under his shirt. He resigns to staring back at his phone, biting back the urge to text Sam just yet. It’s all a little too surreal – just yesterday, he was talking about Cas openly for the first time in nearly a decade, and of course it turns out that Cas’ de-aged blonde doppelganger is his freaking _kid_ , and now here’s Cas, after 20 years, paying for his coffee as if an unspoken $2.50 apology.

He feels something cold press into his hand, which turns out to be Castiel standing in front of him, his iced coffee in hand. Dean grabs it from Castiel, muttering a thank you as he just nods in response. Castiel takes a seat on one of the lower steps, and Dean follows, leaving about a foot between them. For a moment, they sip in silence, and Dean can’t help but find it only fitting that after 20 years neither of them really have anything to say to each other.

“So, what are you doing in Winnipeg, Dean?” Cas finally says, his tone the same neutral it’s always been, but darker and grittier in a baritone that washes over Dean. The question sounds almost interrogative, and Dean can’t help but scoff.

“Gee, it’s good to see you, too, Cas” he laughs, not fully hiding the bite in his words as Castiel flinches slightly. Castiel sighs, swirling the coffee in his cup absentmindedly.

“Dean,” he starts sternly, “that’s not what I meant, and you know that. It’s just…” he pauses, turning to look at Dean. His eyes are bordered by wrinkles that Dean never got to see develop – smile lines from years of laughter, bags under his eyes from restless nights. Times when Dean wasn’t a part of his life.

“…It’s just been so long, Dean, I almost don’t know what to say.”

Dean clears his throat, taking a long sip of his coffee.

“And I didn’t peg you as an iced coffee kind of guy,” Castiel smirks. Dean flushes a little at the familiarity of that jab.

“Well, a lot of things change in twenty years, Cas,” he replies, even though his change in coffee preference happened over the past few days, but Castiel couldn’t possibly know that.

“Rufus’ company has a big job out here, the supermarket downtown” he says, eliciting a knowing nod from Castiel. “He invited me along to help manage some of the projects. Figured it would be good to get away from things for a while.”

Castiel doesn’t know how much convincing it took for Dean to take the trip up, and Dean feels strange, as if he isn’t telling the whole truth. He’s not lying to Castiel, but the entire interaction just feels dishonest.

Castiel ponders for a moment. “Yes, I had heard that Rufus’ company had gotten the job, I think he has a few existing connections here,” he supplies. He glances briefly at his watch, and curses under his breath.

“Listen, Dean,” he says, standing up. Dean follows suit, and notices that they are eye level. Castiel had always been a bit taller growing up, but Dean’s growth spurt just happened late, a little after Castiel left.

“I have to head into the office in a few, and I really don’t want to cut this short,” Castiel has a very serious look on his face that makes Dean smile, it’s the same seriousness that he’d been so fond of for many years. “I… I think we have a lot to talk about, Dean.”

“That’s an understatement, Cas.” Dean laughs, hoping that a sunny disposition guises the unfurling mess in his stomach of all the things him and Castiel had left unsaid.

Castiel tilts his head to the right before his face breaks out in a smile. Something about seeing a fully grown Castiel still adhere to his childhood habits eases the storm brewing in his stomach.

“How about this. If you’re free, why don’t you come over for dinner? We can meet here; I live very close by.” Castiel pulls out his phone, handing it to Dean with the contacts page open.

“I should be done work around four, so let’s meet for five. Does that work for you?”

Although this has always been Castiel’s tone, Dean can’t help but focus on how detached and corporate the entire exchange feels. He types his number into Castiel’s phone, a strange feeling that his childhood best friend has never once had his mobile phone number.

“Yeah, Cas, that sounds good,” he replies, trying to keep his composure, envious of Castiel’s innate ability to keep it cool at all times. “That sounds perfect.”

Castiel stands there, and for a few brief seconds, it feels like some torturous game of former-best-friends-who-haven’t-seen-each-other-in-twenty-years chicken to see who would hug who first. Eventually, Castiel turns towards the stairs, Dean following him up until they reached the sidewalk.

The awkwardness is so foreign to Dean that he can barely stand it. Everything about the whole interaction felt _off_ , but Castiel didn’t seem to be too bothered. Dean has so many unanswered questions, like why didn’t Castiel ever come back to visit, or when did Castiel end up in _Canada_ , or most importantly, _when did he have a fucking kid?_ Dean isn’t sure that these questions can be answered over a dinner, assuming that Jack and maybe Castiel’s wife would be there as well, but he figures it’s a start.

Castiel turns once more to look Dean squarely in the face, his expression more relaxed now.

“I’ll let you know when I’m headed out, then. Goodbye, Dean.”

With that, Castiel walked off towards the bridge, leaving Dean standing there, the condensation on his iced coffee dripping down his hand. Just as he decides he needs to head home to process whatever the fuck just happened he feels a tap on his shoulder.

Jack’s standing there, his face as sunny as ever, but with a slight worry between his brows. He’s holding the oatmeal cookie that Dean had ordered.

“My dad forgot to take this with him, and I was gonna bring it out to you, but you guys seemed…busy,” Jack says, speaking as if he’s carefully considering each word. Dean smiles, taking the cookie from him.

“Thanks kid,” Dean replies, “I appreciate that.”

Jack smiles wider before he hears Kaia call his name through the door, his expression surprised in the same way a small child might look. Dean laughs. Although they were so similar, he could see now just how different Jack and Cas were, particularly in their normal temperaments.

“I should get back to work. Goodbye, Dean!” Jack exclaims before scurrying back down the steps.

Dean drains the remainder of his coffee before tossing the cup into a nearby recycling bin, pocketing the cookie for a little later. His snack appetite thoroughly ruined by the odd events of the day, he contemplates for a moment before fishing out his phone and calling Sam.

The hours until five o’clock pass with little consequence. Sam is ecstatic at their accidental reunion, insisting that Dean give Castiel his number as well (which is to say, _don’t fuck up this reunion before I can talk to my old friend, too, Dean_ ). He sits on his couch, nibbling at the oatmeal cookie while staring blankly at the wall in front of him.

The memories he had buried away long ago threaten to resurface, and Dean feels helpless. Of course, he wouldn’t find himself in a situation where he can properly prepare for a twenty-year reunion with the first boy he lo-

Dean firmly shuts that thought down before it can complete itself. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. He shoves the rest of the cookie in his mouth, chewing furiously as if that would keep intrusive thoughts at bay, before flicking the TV on and letting it play whatever was in front of him.

\--

In the hours before Castiel would climb into the passenger seat of his mother’s sedan and leave Lebanon for good, Dean hadn’t seen him for almost a full day.

He chalked it up to Castiel being busy with packing and helping his mother, but he knew that the kiss they shared was the reason for the rift threatening to grow prematurely between them. In that forest, silent except for the rustling leaves above them, they broke apart and Castiel immediately turned his body away from Dean, with Dean doing the same.

It felt wrong. It felt so wrong, but Dean couldn’t deny just how _good_ it made him feel to kiss Castiel. Maybe it was all the teasing from other boys, calling them names, words that didn’t mean much to Dean or Castiel but still stung in their delivery. They never cared, or at least pretended not to care, because sticking together was always more important.

But here they were, facing away from each other, not even able to speak a word, and Dean wondered if avoiding those words was what kept them together in the first place.

Eventually, he heard Castiel sit up, leaves rustling around him, and Dean was momentarily relieved to be done with something that felt a little melodramatic, even for his standards. However, before Dean could get up himself, he heard Castiel say,

“I should go home. Mother probably needs help packing.”

And without another word, he walked off towards his home, the windows dark meaning that Ms. Novak wasn’t even home, either physically or figuratively given her recent bouts of drunkenness. Dean watched Castiel walk away, and although he wanted nothing more than to run to his best friend and pull him back, he decides to let him leave.

Sometimes Dean wonders if Castiel would have come back if Dean didn’t let him go.

\--

Dean wakes with a start at his phone alarm ringing – the screen reads 4:15PM. He had fallen asleep while some teen drama about privileged New York kids was still playing on the screen. Picking up his phone to silence the alarm, while his other hand rubs the sleep out of his eyes, he sees that Castiel had texted him about fifteen minutes prior:

[3:58PM] _Just finished up with work. Are you still okay to meet at 5:00? Please let me know._

_-Castiel_

Dean snorts, _of course Cas would have a fucking signature in his texts_. He quickly types out a confirmatory response, hoping Castiel wasn’t too stressed about the 15-minute delay in his response.

[4:16PM] Hey Cas, yeah, I’ll see you the coffee place in a few.

Dean’s thankful he had the foresight to set this alarm. He had planned to drop by the pie place to pick up some dessert for Castiel as a peace offering of some sort, something he still feels weird about having to do just to see Castiel, but he figures it’s just the polite thing to do. He quickly washes his face before deciding to apply the tiniest bit of cologne, and after some thorough consideration, he swaps his t-shirt for a casual black button-down, the kind that was allegedly made not to be tucked in, and neatly rolled up his sleeves before heading back out, hoping he could make it there and back in time.

He picks up a whole apple pie, which was one of the few remaining whole pies left in the store (and he _absolutely_ wasn’t going to show up with a _key lime pie_ ), and with twenty minutes to spare, he takes his time walking back over the bridge. As crowds of people pass by him on either side, he wonders how many of these people have known Castiel longer than he had. He wonders how many of these strangers have seen the years of Castiel that he himself never got to see. He wonders how many of these people have passed Castiel, not giving him a second glance at all. This city, one that just hours ago was an unexplored oasis for Dean is now a place where Castiel has been – the benches that bookmark the sidewalks, the convenience store next to the fast-food chain, the bus stops crowded with rowdy teenagers lighting up joints. All these things have known Castiel in such a different way than Dean has ever known him.

He doesn’t want that to annoy him, but he can’t help it. He never could help himself around Castiel, could he.

When he reaches the coffeeshop, he sees a familiar mop of hair sitting on the steps.

“You’re early.”

Castiel turns around to see Dean, face breaking out in a toothy grin, and something inside Dean twists. As Castiel stands up, he sees that he’s dressed much more casually than Dean, donning a simple white t-shirt and a pair of surprisingly tight jeans. His shirt stretches across the broad expanse of his chest, and Dean tries not to let his eyes linger too long.

Castiel eyes the bag in Dean’s hand.

“Dean, you didn’t have to bring anything,” he starts, brows furrowing. Dean raises a hand at Castiel, interrupting his thought.

“It would be rude not to bring dessert. And I know I still like dessert as much as I did 20 years ago,” he pauses, caught up in how fondly Castiel is looking at Dean. It’s disarming, and unfair, really, how relaxed Castiel seems.

“Well,” Castiel laughs, “that hasn’t changed for me either. Shall we?”

Castiel leads the way, and it turns out he lives on the same street as Dean, just across the large 3-way intersection that marks the main thoroughfare of the Village. Castiel mentions a few buildings as they pass them: an excellent burrito restaurant holed up against a hair salon, an old church that runs a soup kitchen every weekend, and a bakery that he tells Dean to avoid at all costs, insisting that “they aren’t good people, Dean.”

They turn a street corner and reach a small stretch of houses, not dissimilar to the small homes of their neighbourhood back in Lebanon. Taller than they are wide, with faded pastel sidings and large looming trees on each property, it almost looks like a fairy-tale setting. Castiel eventually steps up the walkway of a pale-yellow home with white wooden trim. Dean notices that the front yard is overgrown with all sorts of wildflowers, nary a patch of grass to be found.

“This is one hell of a lawn, Cas,” Dean comments, and Castiel doesn’t seem hurt by the comment, instead deadpanning in his usual tone,

“Biodiversity, Dean. Lawns are terrible for the environment.”

Dean shakes his head and laughs, and while he’s sure Castiel is right, he can’t help but find it funny how Castiel always has an explanation for any seemingly idiosyncratic thing he was doing, even as a kid.

_“Cas, where are your shoes?”_

_“It’s much more ergonomic to walk on bare feet, Dean. I’m protecting the arches in my foot.”_

_“Jesus Christ, Cas, what’s that smell?”_

_“It’s my compost bin, Dean. I’m going to start a garden this summer. Do you want to help me?”_

As Castiel leads Dean inside, he sees that the inside is just as cozy looking as the outside. The floors are new hardwood, shiny and sturdy without a single creaky patch. The walls are painted a similar colour to the outside, but in a deeper, more honey-like tone. The living room to his left sports a well-worn couch and an ornate rug that Dean thinks might be a Persian rug, but he’d have to confirm with Castiel on that later.

The walls are lined with lightly stained oak bookcases, chock full of all sorts of volumes that Dean cannot decipher at that moment. Dotting some of the shelves and windowsills are series of houseplants, bright and thriving. The house screams comfort, and for some reason, although it’s not quite consistent with the Castiel he used to know, who may have favored a more muted living space, it just seems to fit with Castiel now.

Castiel, who had slipped away to the kitchen, pops his head from the archway that separated the living room and the kitchen. “Would you like a beer, Dean?” Dean nods, and soon a cold bottle appears in his hand. He notices that Castiel is drinking what appears to just be soda water.

“Not a beer drinker, Cas?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No, but I keep it around for guests. This is definitely a beer-centric city.” He gestures to the bag Dean was still holding.

“Here, let me take that. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back, just gotta finish up a few more things in the kitchen and dinner will be ready.” As Dean hands off the bag to Castiel, he hears footsteps coming down from the staircase by the front door. He turns to see Jack, dressed down in a too-big t-shirt and shorts that were obviously an old pair of sweatpants sliced above the knee. His hair was immaculately coiffed up, however, a strange contrast of outfit and hairstyle.

“Hello, Dean!” he exclaims, “Dad told me you were coming. Says you guys grew up together! That’s so crazy!” Jack perches on a stool by the kitchen counter, stealing a bite of whatever Castiel was fussing over in the kitchen – it smelled like roasted potatoes – before Castiel gently rapped a wooden spoon on his arm.

The scene in front of Dean is so god damn domestic it makes him almost nauseous. He manages to swallow down his queasiness, smiling at Jack.

“Yeah, we did,” he replied, “so I guess I did know you in some way.”

Jack’s eyes light up. “Yeah, everyone says I look just like my dad. I don’t really see it, but I don’t mind. Dad’s cool.” Dean hears Castiel reply with a “Thank you, Jack,” and the politeness of it all makes Dean chuckle.

“Sorry I can’t stick around, gonna head over to my friend’s place,” Jack says, explaining his neatly styled hair. The outfit must be some sort of acceptable ensemble for young kids, Dean assumes.

As Jack heads towards the door, sliding on what appeared to be a pair of house slippers (youth fashion truly evades Dean), he hears Castiel call from across the house, “If you’re out past ten, give me a call, Jack. Have fun.” Jack bids Dean and Castiel a goodbye before slipping out the door.

“He’s a great kid, Cas,” Dean says, leaning over the partition separating the kitchen from the living room. He sees Castiel turn his head to shoot a smile at Dean.

“How old is he?”

Castiel laughs. “I know he’s quite juvenile, but Jack just turned sixteen in May.”

Admittedly, Dean had thought he might be a college student, but he supposes he isn’t too far off. His brain, betraying him, thinks _Jack’s the age that you lost Castiel_. Dean takes a long pull of his beer bottle before responding.

“Nah, he didn’t seem juvenile. Pretty damn good at his job, too.”

Dean can practically see Castiel preen from the praise of his son. Untying the apron he had wrapped around himself, Castiel turns towards Dean. “Everything should be ready soon,” he says, setting his eyes back on the bag that Dean had brought in, sitting square in the middle of the small kitchen table. Dean notices that it hardly looks big enough for two, wondering if the household truly was just the two of them.

As Castiel pulls the box out, his eyes widen as he sees the logo of Two Truths and a Pie stamped on the front. He looks up at Dean, and the way his face scrunches up into a smile just might be the most precious thing Dean has seen in years.

“I love this place,” he fawns, setting the box down. “You know, every time I go there, I think of you, Dean. Never met someone who likes pie as much as you.”

A sentiment that should be tender and fond strikes through Dean like a knife.

How could Castiel say something like that so easily? That he _thought of Dean?_ That after 20 years of no contact, he still thought of him fondly?

Everything about his experience with Castiel in Winnipeg just feels too easy. It feels too simple. And god forbid Dean self-sabotage another good thing, but he knows he won’t be able to shake this feeling.

Instead, Dean just plasters on a smile. “Was practically the first place I found once I got here. Some sort of sign from above, I guess,” he says, trying to implant as much humour into his voice as he could.

He tries to help Castiel set the table, but Castiel insists that Dean relax, leaving him to nurse the remainder of his beer as Castiel started to plate the food. Turns out that dinner is roasted and glazed salmon steaks with a side of roast baby potatoes. In a bowl was a garden salad that looked like it was probably plucked from Castiel’s own backyard.

“Jeez, Cas, when did you have the time to make all this?” Dean marvels at the spread, more than ready to dig in.

Castiel smiles. “When we made plans, I told Jack to get a head start on dinner so that I could finish it by the time I got home,” Castiel explained. “I figured a home-cooked meal would be appropriate, I know how old travel and takeout can get.”

“Actually,” Dean responds, popping a potato into his mouth, an involuntary moan escaping his lips. Castiel coughs. “I do plan on cooking as much as I can while I’m here. I have a full kitchen, might as well use it, y’know?” He eats another potato as Castiel portions out the salad onto smaller plates.

They catch up on the surface level that most strangers do. He learns that Castiel is teaching as a professor of English at the University of Winnipeg, the campus of which just next to Dean’s construction site. He learns that he homeschooled Jack, which explains the eerily similar mannerisms, but decided to send Jack off to high school so that he could socialize with other kids, and to Castiel’s relief, Jack is exceeding his expectations.

The unanswered question of “where did Jack come from” lingers in the air as they clean up their plates, Dean insisting on at least helping get them to the sink. Castiel opens the fridge and offers Dean a second beer, which he happily accepts, and they relocate towards the couch in the living room, the evening sunlight streaming into the house, low and warm. Castiel places the pie on the coffee table, cutting a slice for each of them, and if Dean’s slice is nearly twice the size of Castiel’s, he doesn’t mention it.

“So, about Jack…” Dean starts, and Castiel tucks his head and smiles. He had to have known that this question would come up – if Jack’s 16, after all, that means Castiel had him a mere 3 or 4 years after leaving Kansas, when he was no older than a freshman at college.

“It’s a long story, but I suppose we have time,” Castiel laughs, taking a bite of his pie and this time it’s his turn to moan, and the sound is music to Dean’s ears. He wills the blood to leave his face, but with the warm temperature and booze, he hopes that a flushed complexion isn’t too out of place.

“I had Jack when I was 19. I met his mother in college, and we, like many young folks do, got carried away.” Castiel stops to look at Dean, giving him a knowing look that Dean avoids, focusing his attention back on his pie.

Castiel sighs. “When it became more than evident that we were having a baby, she wanted to keep it, but she also wanted to give him up for adoption. I never wanted to pressure her into doing something she didn’t want to do, but I knew deep down that I would want to keep him no matter what.”

“When my mother found out, she was livid. She really dug into me.” Dean notices Castiel’s expression darken, and a part of him wants to change the conversation just so Castiel doesn’t look like that anymore.

“I remember it so clearly, she said, ‘I moved you out here so that you could make something of yourself, and this is what you make?’ I don’t think she understood the joke she made there, but she was never in much of a mood for humour back then,” Castiel laughs grimly.

Dean takes another sip of his beer, clearing his throat. “So, obviously, you kept the kid. What happened to mom?”

Castiel gave Dean a shrug. “Well, she kept her promise. She didn’t want to keep him, so he was all mine.” Dean’s heart broke a little at the way Castiel’s eyes looked so tired, from years of experience that Dean could never fathom had happened to him.

“Obviously, my mother was not okay with me keeping Jack, so I did what any sensible person would do. I left the country.”

Dean chokes on his beer, sputtering a little bit onto his shirt. Castiel immediately offers him a napkin, chuckling under his breath.

“You _left the country?_ ”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel supplies, as if the solution was so obvious. “We were living in Fargo at the time, which is conveniently very close to the Canadian border. So, as Jack’s sole legal guardian, I packed my things and left. I was lucky – I had enough money to keep us afloat for a bit, but after a few stints of homelessness, I finally got us back on our feet and I headed back to school.”

The ease with which Castiel illustrates his past leaves Dean speechless. He truly could never have guessed that in the short years after Castiel left Kansas, he had truly been through hell and back.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Cas. I mean… fuck.” Dean sets his bottle down, turning his body to face Castiel, whose tired expression never left but a fond smile is creeping back on his face.

“A lot happens in twenty years, Dean. I’m just glad you found me where I am now, and not back then.” Found. _Found._ As if Dean had been looking for him this whole time, when in fact his stubbornness did a pretty good job of erasing Castiel from his life. Dean never looked for Castiel, and he’s never felt worse about it.

“You did a good job, Cas. I mean, this house, your kid, your _job?_ You’re one resilient fucker, you know that?” Dean lightly punches his shoulder, and Castiel blushes before shaking his head.

“Nonsense. Dean, you’ve always been the resilient one. I’ve always admired that about you, so maybe a little bit of you influenced me in those moments.”

It’s killing Dean to know that Castiel had been thinking about him all these years. It’s also killing him wondering why, then, if he had been thinking about him, he never looked for Dean either. Or, at least, he never looked successfully. Not like Dean was a moving target, his ass stayed planted in Lebanon for thirty-six years after all.

The conversations move on to lighter topics, such as the construction project and how excited Castiel was for this to finally get off the ground. The way Castiel talks his ear off about racial inequality and gentrification reminds him a lot of Sam when he would come back from Stanford on break. Perhaps this is what post-secondary education does to humble Kansas men. As much as Dean is enjoying this time he’s spending with Castiel, it still feels like that same surface-level interaction that bothered him so hours earlier at the café. The unanswered questions were laying themselves bare in the pools of sunlight across Castiel’s ornate rug, and as the sunlight starts to fade, so does Dean’s willingness to address them.

Whatever’s going on here is good. They’re getting along, they’re amicable, and Dean shouldn’t disrupt that. Maybe he leaves a little earlier than expected, citing the need to go over more of Rufus’ documents, but he doesn’t forget to give Castiel Sam’s number, and with a portion of the leftover pie in a small Tupperware upon Castiel’s insistence, he heads back home. They don’t hug, but Dean doesn’t feel the need to.

It’s hard to articulate how he feels in this moment, his head a hazy fog of doubt and confusion, but Dean knows that as long as he’s in Winnipeg, he’s going to be by Castiel, and if this is how it must be, then god dammit he would sustain it.

The Winchesters are nothing if not stubborn.

**_is this the fire of leaving pains_ **

**_when the love is gone but the need remains_ **

**_into the shiver and cold of day_ **

**_when the house is gone but the street remains_ **

**_i guess it’s true_ **

**_i guess these rivers never knew_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics are from Rivers by The Tallest Man on Earth :^)  
> find me on tumblr (URL thatisahotsoup)  
> references to winnipeg are generally true - none of the business names actually exist


	2. and i keep the hope i carry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dean settles into a new routine in an unfamiliar place, he reckons less with who he was and more with who he could be.
> 
> warning: mentions of sexual activity (nothing explicit)

**_well i've been thinking 'bout the mystery_   
** **_  
as i'm driving here through it all  
  
i’ve seen this road so many times before  
  
it's where i'm from, oh, my heart  
  
since i've been gone  
  
they changed the sunset time  
  
and it yells so loud as i move on  
  
yes, i've been thinking 'bout the mystery  
  
as i'm driving through it all_ **

The weeks pass with little turmoil. Dean meets his team, a relatively eager group of workers, and he gets along with most of them, having established enough authority to keep them on track. Every few days Castiel invites him out to lunch, which sometimes involves Dean walking onto the University of Winnipeg campus in steel toed boots and dusty jeans, looking exceedingly out of place among the smaller crowd of summer students. He definitely sees a few young girls (and boys, and he assumes some who identify as neither) try to make passes at him, which is strangely comforting in a _Dean’s still got it_ kind of way but knowing that some of these kids were half his age did an excellent job of discouraging even the inkling of a boner. The conversations remain light – they discuss their work, for the most part, using each other to vent about the daily stresses of life. It’s simple.

He sees Charlie a few times a week as well at the café, and occasionally they hit up different bars in the area, including a dingy underground whiskey bar that Dean is growing quite fond of. Turns out, Charlie knows Castiel, which becomes a running theme among Winnipeggers – no one knows anyone, but everyone seems to know each other, just another contradiction that seemed to be the very lifeblood of the city.

Life is predictable, but it’s good. He has a few constants in his life: Morning coffees brewed by Jack quickly becoming his favorite of his routine behaviours. No matter how sour and grumpy Dean woke up, the kid never failed to put him in a better mood.

Charlie invites Dean to a board game café one week, and he thinks he may have accidentally gotten himself a little too invested into a Dungeons and Dragons campaign.

Some days, when has time, he takes Baby out for long drives out of the city. The highways are long and flanked by expanses of prairie, and it feels good to just drive without the unbearable limits of the city. He weaves in and out the small towns throughout the prairies, occasionally stopping by a farmer’s stand to buy fresh produce, planning new recipes to make. Maybe he would invite Charlie or Castiel over for dinner some time.

Work is gruelling, particularly under the sweltering summer heat only intensifying through August. But Dean can’t complain much.

Life isn’t perfect, but life is good.

The next day on site, Dean hears one of his team members, Gabriel, who’s definitely the typical class clown, talking to another team member on their break.

“Yeah, man,” Gabriel smirks, “I had no idea they had those here either, but it looks like Winnipeg’s got some dirty little secrets, too.”

“You didn’t know they had what?” Dean interrupts, chugging some of his water as he finds solace in the shade of Rufus’ trailer. Gabriel gives him a sly look.

“Why, Deano, a bathhouse of course!”

Dean coughs, suddenly choking on his water, Gabriel delighting in Dean’s sudden flush of embarrassment.

“Yeah man, your classic sex-club-disguised-as-a-spa. In fact, they’ve got two – one that’s co-ed and another that’s for men only. Gotta say, they’re pretty fun.” Gabriel winks at Dean, who’s still recovering from the water that went down his windpipe.

Once Dean is able to breathe properly, he straightens up. Obviously, Lebanon didn’t have a bathhouse, what with a population barely filling one apartment building in Winnipeg, but Dean had definitely heard of these places. Libraries contained surprisingly freaky information if you knew where to look, and Dean, a child of the pre-internet world, had to get his fix of the taboo somewhere. “Wait, so you’ve been to them?” he asks, trying to maintain his composure.

Gabriel shrugs, though the glint in his eyes gives it away.

“Well, I went to the co-ed one cause I don’t like to be limited, y’know? Haven’t been to the gay one, but from what I’ve heard, it can get pretty wild down there. Why, are you interested, Deano?”

Dean shakes his head. “Of course not, Gabe. I’m too old for shit like that.”

“Actually,” Gabriel smiles, his grin mirroring the same shit-eating grin that Sam gets when he knows he has Dean in a corner, “most people are of the older variety. Young guys like me are prime real estate. I don’t think you’d feel too out of place, old man.” Dean knocks a fist on Gabriel’s hardhat just forceful enough to make him stagger.

Gabriel, unfortunately, isn’t quite finished.

“Aha, unless old Deano’s already found someone to help get his rocks off! Is it that guy that swings by the site every so often? Y’know, dark just-got-fucked hair, oceanic eyes, thighs like hams?” Gabriel makes a grabbing motion with his hands, which is far more vulgar than necessary.

Dean immediately feels his face burn, but thankfully it’s not noticeable due to the heat. Gabriel’s description is more apt than Dean’s willing to admit. Castiel had truly filled out his gangly frame. He had spotted a bicycle at Castiel’s house, which would explain the, uh, “ham thighs” as Gabriel so eloquently put it.

He cleared his throat. “I’m definitely not fucking Cas, Gabe. He’s a childhood friend. That would be creepy,” he grunted, giving Gabriel his best _this conversation is over_ glare.

Gabriel ponders for a moment, and before he can say whatever lewd thing was on the tip of his tongue, Dean calls the team back to work.

Dean’s sexuality isn’t something he spends too much time thinking about. In Lebanon, the options were so limited that in a sense, he’s grateful the dating pool limited his need to consider the attraction to men that has always been there.

That was the most confusing thing to him growing up – even though he had that attraction, he was also just as attracted to women, and at a time where he didn’t quite have the vocabulary to put a name to this phenomenon, he figured it could just be something where, depending on the day, he might focus a bit more on the man in the porno video. That is, to say, for the most part the itch could be scratched without sacrificing an external imagery of all-American heterosexuality.

A few times while visiting Sam and Eileen, Dean had ventured out into the city, allowing his guard to come down while shamelessly flirting with a few baristas here and there, and though he’d gotten a few phone numbers, he never followed through. It was always just something that, through the convenience of staying in Lebanon, never really needed to come up all that much. Sam was always the first to say that Dean was addicted to his own comfort zone, and although he’s probably right, Dean grew up valuing routine and consistency. It’s what helped raise Sam, after all.

Dean can’t deny now that the thought of acting on those same repressed urges in Winnipeg definitely crossed his mind a few times. It is evident that his new neighborhood attracts all sorts of people, and he’s seen plenty of couples in all sorts of arrangements visit Family Coffee on the days he chooses to sit and chat with Charlie. It’s strange, really, that in many ways Dean has the license and opportunity to be whoever he wants here, but he still feels something holding him back.

He won’t say that it’s Cas, but he might have something to do with it.

Gabriel’s breaktime tangent about the bathhouses lingers in the back of Dean’s mind as he’s finishing his dinner preparations – spaghetti and meatballs, and while he lets the meatballs brown in the oven, curiosity gets the best of him. He finds himself perched at the kitchen island, his laptop whirring away (it, like most electronics in Dean’s life, was on its last legs), and soon he’s browsing through defunct early-internet cruising forums to find more information on these elusive spots.

The men’s bathhouse, aptly called _Eros_ , looked small, and much more like a historic relic of queer times past than a still-functioning bathhouse. Dean scrolls through archived posts of men over the past decades detailing their sexual escapades, and in his trance, he almost forgets to pull the meatballs out of the oven.

“Jesus Christ get a grip, Winchester,” he grumbles, closing his laptop and finishing off the rest of his dinner preparations, hoping a good meal would be sufficient to put his curious mind at rest.

Unfortunately, pasta does not cure Dean’s gay urges.

After cleaning up, Dean plops down onto the couch and turns on the TV, an almost automatic action for him at this point, letting whatever channel it opens to drone in the background. While the taxing nature of work usually left Dean too tired to do much of anything, today he was restless. Rubbing his hands over his face, he groans at the realization that the only way to get his mind off of it was to just go and experience it for himself.

Bathhouses provide interesting precedents for closeted people like Dean – they are largely anonymous, with the strict unspoken rule of everyone keeping each other’s secrets, and participation wasn’t mandatory (according to the posts reassuring nervous men on the forums). Besides, if Dean didn’t go, he would probably die curious given just how stubborn he knows he can get.

So, without allowing himself to ponder on it any longer, and trying to ignore the apparition of Gabriel’s smirk in his mind, Dean stuffs his phone and wallet into his pockets and heads out the door.

\--

The bathhouse is a ten-minute bus ride from Dean’s place, just north of the general downtown area. Dean decides to take the bus, not wanting to risk any street parking with Baby, after Castiel had warned him a few times of the frequency of broken car windows in Winnipeg. Castiel was pleasantly surprised that Dean was still driving Baby, and Dean was pleasantly surprised that Castiel remembered the car at all.

He manages to keep his cool for the most part. The guy running the door is an older gentleman in a white tank top emblazoned with the Eros logo, and with his silver earrings and manicured facial hair, he looks like he’s straight out of a parody of 80’s gay culture. When Dean spends a little too long trying to decide what he wanted (what’s the difference between a “regular room” and a “deluxe room” anyway?), the guy, Peter, gives him a knowing look.

“First time at a bathhouse?” he asks, and although he isn’t teasing, Dean feels himself blush.

“Heh, yeah, you could tell, huh,” Dean laughs, and Peter gives him a smile. He suggests Dean get a regular room, which would allow him to escape to his own private spot if he needed, and after handing him a towel and a key, he points Dean towards his room.

“Just head down the hall and to your right,” Peter directs, and before Dean can turn to leave, Peter grabs his shoulder. Dean swivelled his head around, and Peter had a serious look on his face.

“If anyone bothers you or you need help, just let me know. It can be a little daunting, but we’re here to help, alright?”

Dean can feel the maternal energy radiate from Peter, relaxing under his touch before giving him a curt nod and heading towards his room.

En route, Dean sees a few patrons, clad in nothing but white towels loosely hanging from their hips, and true to what Gabriel said, it is mostly older men, probably around fifty to sixty years of age. Once securely in his room, which consists of a small single bed pushed up against one wall, a side table with a lamp, and a large mirror on the opposite wall, Dean sits down on the bed and puts his head in his hands.

It’s a big enough step to make it into a space like this in the first place, but Dean’s starting to lose his mojo. The thought of having to strip down and enter the fray of sexually charged men gave him pause, to put it lightly. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once, and he doesn’t know if his heart can take it.

Eventually, after scrolling through his phone for a bit, Dean finally decides to kick off his shoes and strip down. Securing his towel around his waist, he takes a few deep breaths. _This is no different from the gym,_ he repeats to himself, and after grabbing his key, he heads out.

The bathhouse, true to its photos, is small. Dean roughly counts about 30 rooms in total as he walks around, with another hallway dedicated to lockers for those who didn’t require rooms. TVs hanging from the walls play pornography that is significantly more graphic and male-centric than Dean is used to; sure, he’d forayed into gay porn a few times, but nothing too wild.

He eventually finds himself in a larger room, with vinyl seating wrapping around 3 walls facing towards a large television. On it are a few men, who are casually chatting, and they immediately notice Dean. Dean swallows, trying not to look to afraid, but one of the men waves and cheerfully says,

“Hello! Pretty early for the young guys to show up!”

Dean blushes, but given how dark it is, he assumes they do not notice. The other men laugh, but the situation doesn’t make Dean uncomfortable, although they are likely ogling him. Dean knows that he’s relatively attractive – he’s lost some muscle definition as he aged into his thirties, but he still had his broad shoulders and chest, and relatively sizeable biceps and forearms. Save for a few unavoidable laugh lines his face and the small beginnings of a beer gut, he wasn’t much different from his mid-twenties.

Dean’s looks did him lots of favours back in Lebanon, especially having been a scrawny kid up until he started to work more with Bobby and Rufus. For several years he dated and hooked up with reckless abandon, but eventually one runs out of prospects in a small town like Lebanon. Lisa had been new to town, and Dean pursued her immediately. They had something good, but deep down they both knew it wasn’t going to last, and when that thought exists in the back of their heads, the end is of course inevitable. Perhaps it was messier than it needed to be, but the unavoidability of it let Dean have some peace with it. He knew he wouldn’t be happy spending the rest of his life with Lisa, and Lisa knew the same about herself. They still exchange holiday cards, Lisa sending photos of Benny, her son, who Dean had grown quite fond of.

But now, in this new setting, Dean is unsure how he feels about the impact of his looks. He wanted to be invisible, to observe from afar, and to just absorb the sights and sounds, but there was no escaping now.

He chuckles nervously. “I’m probably closer to your age then some 18-year-old, y’know,” he says, earning another round of laughter from the older gentlemen. Dean sits a few feet from them. Thankfully, none of them are particularly indecent (well, as decent as one can be with just one towel).

“Well, even so,” one of them says, who has an impressively hairy chest, something Dean was only a little jealous of, “this place doesn’t really pick up until after midnight. Still a few hours before the fun really begins.”

Dean blinks at that. He never considered doing much of _anything_ past midnight these days, and the realities of his age weigh heavy on his shoulders. It was only about eight o’clock when Dean came in and given the quiet and relaxed nature of the bathhouse, he has to assume that the men were telling him the truth.

“If that’s the case, then what are you all doing here so early?” he asks, relaxing from his previously guarded posture.

One of them speaks up, this one slender with sinewy muscles. “Well, for us oldies, this is our spot! It’s where we come to socialize after a long week, spend some time in the steam rooms,” the others nod as he says this, “and if we’re lucky, well, we get lucky!”

He shoots a wink at Dean, and Dean’s slowly getting more used to the bold flirtations of these men. They chat for a bit longer, discussing the history of Eros, while the odd non-affiliated patron slips in and out of the room, disappointed that the “fresh meat”, as hairy chest put it, doesn’t seem to be engaging in any sexual activity. They deduce that Dean is new in town, and the conversation shifts to what local spots they suggest Dean visit.

This was the last thing Dean had expected from this place. The three men, David (the slender one), George (the hairy chested one) and Doug (a larger man with a bushy beard in a trucker cap that reminded Dean a little too much of Bobby), were incredible kind and warm, and even scared off a few guys who looked a little too predatorily at Dean, for which Dean was very thankful.

It’s refreshing, just talking to three gay men, where there was no questioning of Dean’s own orientation, or his agenda. They did not judge Dean, and immediately welcomed him into their space. They didn’t have to talk about gay-centric topics, and in fact at some point in the evening, him and Doug got into a heated discussion about cars, which David and George immediately checked out of.

At some point, Dean feels the need to tell the men that he’s bisexual. It’s the first time he ever really said it out loud, but he just needs to feel the words form in his mouth and be spoken. The men give him warm smiles, before David loudly exclaims that Dean is an “equal opportunity employer”, which leads to a loud chorus of laughs, and as much as Dean wants to roll his eyes, he can’t help but join into the contagious laughter.

They chat for a little while longer, until Dean sees on his watch that it’s almost ten. He figures he should probably head back to his room and check his phone, and he excuses himself. The bathhouse had filled out in that time, and Dean definitely passes by a few people engaging in various forms of intercourse. A few hands graze him as he walks by, some landing on his ass, which Dean never thought was particularly substantial, but he secretly enjoys the feeling. Once back in his room, he sees that he has a text from Charlie. Opening his phone, he reads the text:

[9:45PM] I’m heading out to The Good Times for drinks, you should haul your ass over. No excuses. It’s Friday. Live a little, old man.

Dean smiles at the teasing, reminded again of how paradoxical his thirties have been so far in Winnipeg. Charlie’s a handful of years younger than Dean, but they both carry a similar immaturity, especially when they geek out playing Dungeons and Dragons, so he knows she means it in jest. Before he types out a response, he realizes the situation he’s in.

He has the room rented for at least another 6 hours or so, but for some reason, Dean doesn’t really feel like engaging any strangers in anything. So, he types out an affirmative response to Charlie, and starts getting dressed.

As he’s leaving, he passes by David, George, and Doug, who are all sorry to see him go. Doug speaks up first.

“So, newbie, you think you’ll be back some time?”

Dean laughs and shakes his head. “Honestly, not sure this joint is really my vibe.” He sees Doug’s shoulders drop a bit, and he quickly corrects himself.

“Not that I didn’t enjoy hanging with you guys, in fact I’d happily do that again. Just not sure I’m too keen on, well…”

Dean points a thumb to the other corner, where a sex sling is set up and two patrons are eagerly going at it with a growing audience, and David belly laughs at that.

“I suppose it is a little bizarre, eh?” David chuckles.

Dean decides to let Doug put his phone number into Dean’s contact list, because he did want to talk to these men more. He could tell they had long histories of wisdom that Dean wanted badly to pick at, to corroborate with his own feelings and experiences. They agreed to set up a time to meet up again, citing a different café (that George fondly calls thee old timers café), and Dean is bids them farewell. On his way out, Peter gives him a wink.

“Glad you came by man. The guys are good people,” Peter says, and Dean smiles and gives him a nod. Once outside, he pulls up directions to The Good Times, which is thankfully within walking distance, and heads back down towards downtown.

\--

The bar, turns out, is more music venue than it is bar, with a large stage taking up most of the main room. He finds Charlie sitting at the bar, having a conversation with the bartender, a stout man with a scruffy beard, and from what Dean can hear, a British accent. He slides into the seat next to Charlie and gives her a side hug, to which she jumps in surprise.

“You made it!” she yelps, pulling him into a full hug. She then turns to the bartender, and says, “This is Dean, the guy I was telling you about.” The bartender raises an eyebrow at Dean, a look that is almost cartoonishly villainous, before extending a hand to Dean. They shake, and Dean sees the man crack a small smile.

“The name’s Crowley. Any friend of Charlie’s is a friend of mine,” he says, voice veering somewhere between velvet sexy and parody of the Queen’s English. He orders a beer, and takes Crowley’s suggestion on a local brew, and Dean had to admit that the man had taste.

The bar isn’t too busy, the noise just a low murmur, but based on the group of young kids in tattered jeans setting up sound equipment on the stage, Dean assumes that there must be a show happening later. Charlie catches his gaze, and points towards the stage.

“Kaia’s band is playing tonight,” she explains, pointing out the other members of the band – Claire, who was apparently Kaia’s girlfriend; Patience, who also worked at Family Coffee, but typically closing shifts, which explains why Dean has yet to see her there, and Charlie explains that Kaia is on her way with more equipment.

Dean’s famously picky about music, sticking to the classics that he knows and loves, but he’s willing, for Charlie and Kaia, to give the girls a chance. They apparently go by The Wayward Sisters, a name that Dean says is a little too close to a Kansas lyric for his liking, but Charlie convinces him that it will be worth it.

After a little more small talk, Charlie orders two more beers for them, which Crowley quickly presents in front of them.

Even though Dean knew that he didn’t want to pursue anything at Eros, he was still feeling a little unfulfilled, so to speak. He decides that Charlie is his best bet in this city for information about the queer experience and tells himself to nut up and just ask her what he wants to know.

“Hey, Charlie…” he starts, and Charlie raises an eyebrow at him, immediately suspicious of his trepidatious tone. He clears his throat.

“Let’s say, if I wanted to meet uh… a guy… for… activities…” Dean bites the urge to slap himself for seriously substituting “sex” with “activities”, as if he’s a teenager, and he can tell Charlie is biting back an equally strong urge to mock him for the same reason.

Dean gives her a glare before continuing. “Where might a guy like me go about doing that?” he asks, and he sees Charlie’s eyes glimmer in the same way that Gabriel’s did earlier that day. She socks him lightly in the arm.

“I _knew_ you were one of us! Damn, Charlie, your gaydar’s still got it,” she proudly exclaims, and Dean almost shushes her, but realizing the crowd around him, he figures his outing is hardly something anyone would care about. He does catch Crowley laugh from behind the bar, though.

“Yeah, I’ve realized here that I’m not quite as subtle as I thought I was,” he laughs, and he can’t help but feel warm at just how _happy_ Charlie looks.

“So,” Charlie starts, dragging out the ‘o’ just long enough for Dean to kick her lightly on the knee. “How exactly do you identify? Can’t assume you’re just gay based on what I’ve gleaned so far.”

Dean realizes that this would be the second time in less than two hours that he admits that he’s bisexual, and he takes a long swig of his beer. The past few weeks have been so much more ridiculous and eventful than the past twenty years, and Dean’s not sure if he can keep up.

“I guess bisexual is the best descriptor for me,” he says, and Charlie nods. He watches her think for a second, before a genuine smile creeps up on her face.

“First off, thanks for telling me, I don’t take this kind of thing lightly,” she says, and Dean rolls his eyes at the display of sincerity. She whacks his arm. “I’m serious, Dean! It’s not easy to talk about this stuff, so I’m really appreciative that you felt safe enough to tell me.” Charlie raises her beer, and they clink their bottles together.

Charlie chugs the remainder of her beer before setting her bottle down, which Crowley silently takes away and replaces with a scary efficiency.

“So, back to the question at hand,” Charlie says, a seriousness taking over her expression. Dean nervously sips his beer. She places her hand out.

“Hand me your phone.”

Dean hesitates for a moment, before fishing his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it before handing it over to Charlie. Charlie tsks at the older model of the phone, which she does every time she sees Dean use it, and swipes through his apps. Her brow furrows, and Dean asks Crowley for some whiskey. He’s gonna need something harder for this conversation.

“Dean, do you seriously not have a single dating app on your phone?” Charlie balks, to which Dean shrugs, and when Crowley places the whiskey in front of him, Dean shoots him a wink to which Crowley visibly shudders in disgust.

He turns his attention back to Charlie, who is still wide-eyed in disbelief. He shrugs again.

“Where I’m from, those things are pretty useless. Never needed ‘em before,” he replies, and Charlie processes for a moment before nodding in understanding. She had thought Dean was exaggerating the smallness of Lebanon until he pulled up the demographics on his phone.

“So, you’re telling me,” she says in an accusatory tone, “that you’ve never even thought of downloading Grindr? How did you expect to meet guys in the modern world? Cruising truck stops?”

Dean visibly flushes at that, the past few hours of his life, while not exactly a truck stop experience, was thematically close enough. Charlie’s eyes widen again.

“Oh my god, were you seriously cruising truck stops?” she nearly yells, and this time Dean does shush her, but she just laughs.

“God, no, jeez Charlie,” he sputters, regaining his composure after a few people had turned their heads in amusement towards them. He downs the rest of his whiskey.

“I may or may not have visited the gay bathhouse earlier, although I didn’t get any action, thus bringing us to the present with me asking a _lesbian_ where I can bag a _man_ ,” Dean whispers, not wanting anyone else to hear about his sad, non-existent queer sex life. Charlie looks both amused and bewildered.

“Dean Winchester, you might be the only man who has gone to the _bathhouse_ before ever downloading Grindr, you know that?” she laughs, delighting in the embarrassment written all over Dean’s face. Before he knows it, Charlie snaps a picture of him, the flash taking him by surprise in the dimly lit bar, and she begins tapping away at his phone.

“I’m setting up a Grindr account for you right now,” she says, swiftly maneuvering her hands away from Dean, who fails to grab his phone back from her. Eventually, he resigns to the inevitability that he was going to be on a dating app, and Crowley sympathetically pours him another glass.

Before Dean can look at what damage Charlie had done, the bar dims even further, with the stage lighting up. The crowd cheers as Kaia, Claire, and Patience stand on stage, Kaia behind a drum kit, Claire holding an electric bass, and Patience front and centre with a guitar. As the first few chords fill the room, Dean decides that their style, an homage to the punk rock women of the 70’s and 80’s, was definitely palatable, and eventually lets Charlie drag him down towards the dance floor. People are mostly just standing by the stage, bopping along to the music, drinks in hand, and Dean is eternally grateful that he doesn’t have to dance. At one point, his eye catches Kaia’s who gives him a small smile.

As the band switches out for the next act, Charlie and Dean head back to the bar, and one of their seats is occupied by a new person. As they get closer, he sees Charlie run towards the stranger, enveloping them into a hug.

When they let go, Dean is a few inches away from an unfairly hot looking Castiel.

Castiel is dressed in a black t-shirt with a low scooping neck, showing an expanse of skin that is practically taunting Dean, and a tight pair of light wash jeans. Dean’s struck speechless by how good he looks, and thankfully Castiel breaks the silence first.

“Dean! It’s good to see you here,” Castiel smiles, and Charlie has a sly look on her face. Crowley interrupts them, pressing a drink into Castiel’s hand.

“Hey, Castiel, you mind coming over here for a second? I have something I need to ask you,” Crowley drawls, and Castiel shoots the two of them an apologetic look before heading further down the bar with Crowley. Dean lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding him, and Charlie is giving him a look.

“Man, you could practically see the cartoon heart eyes on your face,” she smirks, and Dean scowls. He’s learning that he lacks subtlety in many facets of his life.

“Why not hook up with Castiel? He’s dreamy,” Charlie suggests, and Dean gives her a look.

“Charlie, the man’s not even gay, let alone interested in me,” he scoffs, wishing he had a drink in his hand so that he could have an excuse not to talk.

Charlie’s brow furrows in confusion. “Dean, Castiel’s super gay, what the hell are you talking about? Weren’t you guys like, childhood friends?” She crosses her arms and stares at Dean expectantly.

“What?!” Dean exclaims, which earns him a few glares from the other bar patrons. “Since when? Charlie, the man literally had a biological child with a _woman_ , how on earth is he gay?” he hisses, trying his best to keep quiet lest Castiel, who was only a few feet away, accidentally overhear him. Charlie gives him a stern look.

“Dean, that has literally nothing to do with whether or not someone is gay, don’t be stupid,” she responds, and in Dean’s head a scoreboard updates – Dean, zero; Charlie, one.

Before Dean can think any further, he sees Castiel walking back towards them, looking tired from the exchange with Crowley.

“Sorry about that, there’s something going on with the girls,” he says, his tone slightly annoyed.

Dean squints at him. “The girls?” he asks.

Castiel sighs. “Yes, Dean. The Wayward Sisters. They aren’t my children, fret not, but Kaia is one of my students and I’ve developed a bit of a mentorship role over the three of them. They’ve all had a bit of a rough go, so Crowley helps me keep an eye on them when they play here.” Castiel takes a sip of his drink, which looks to just be a glass of water.

“Thankfully it’s nothing serious, but I’ll have a talk with them later.” Dean sees Charlie let out a breath in his peripheral. It was clear that Charlie cared about them very much as well.

In that moment, Dean can’t help but feel like a bit of an outsider again. This community of people, interconnected in such intricate ways, all exist outside of Dean. Castiel included. Hell, he didn’t even know the man was _gay_ , that is if Charlie is telling the truth. Dean has missed out on so much of these people’s lives, lives to which he is so loosely tethered that the gentlest gust could blow him loose.

The band that followed The Wayward Sisters was not nearly as good, and so Dean, Charlie, and Castiel all stepped outside for some fresh air. Charlie sits on the curb, and as much as Dean wants to tell her it’s unsafe, he can’t help but give in and join her. Something about having your feet on the road while cars rush by takes him back to being young, to a time when Castiel wasn’t a stranger, who had decided to sit next to Dean, their arms brushing.

Charlie stares up at the sky before looking towards Dean and Castiel, her gaze wistful.

“We’re getting too old for this kind of stuff, aren’t we,” Charlie muses, and Castiel snorts.

“Charlie, you’re significantly younger than both of us, you shouldn’t be resigning to the decay of adulthood so early,” Castiel says, and Charlie sticks her tongue out at him. Dean smiles and looks up towards where Charlie had been looking earlier.

Even through the lights that dot the city core, Dean can still see a few stars in the clear night sky. He hears Castiel beside him sigh.

“Tonight would be an excellent night to drive out and stargaze,” Castiel says almost under his breath. Dean looks over to him, and Castiel is watching him with same too-blue eyes from twenty years ago.

“Dude, that sounds awesome. We should do that before summer ends,” he says without thinking, and Castiel smiles fondly.

“I would like that very much, Dean.”

When Castiel heads back inside to pay their tab upon his insistence, Charlie gives Dean a pointed look.

“I’m just saying, Dean. Can’t do much better than Cas,” she says, and despite Dean’s eye roll and playful shove, something tells him that she’s right. When Charlie isn’t looking, Dean deletes Grindr from his phone.

Dean had fallen for Castiel once. A Castiel that no longer exists. He isn’t sure if his heart can take falling for him a second time.

**_i love you all, it’s just a fever dream_ **

**_that’s been closin’ in to our hearts_ **

**_but we will travel past the beatin’ rain_ **

**_and be graceful after all_ **

**_and i keep the hope i carry_ **

**_little things so i can love_ **

**_wherever i go now_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from I Love You, It's a Fever Dream by The Tallest Man on Earth.
> 
> i'll probably use lyrics from other artists, but no one does male pining like TTMoE :'^)


	3. and we're not going back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's one thing to discover a new self. It's a whole other thing to then navigate life with it.

**_smell that it’s wet grass and smoke in my hair_ **

**_i think i’ve had enough_ **

**_but he wants a finale and i came prepared_ **

**_and we’re not going back_ **

As August approaches, the summer gives off its last few days of sweltering heat, a grim foreshadowing of the cold soon to come. Dean has a love-hate relationship with cold weather. On one hand, he gets to pull out his flannel and jackets (which Charlie pointed out were ‘incredibly bisexual’, something Dean did not bother asking her to elaborate on), but on the other hand, it meant small annoyances like cold hands, chapped lips, and having to wait for Baby's engine to warm up.

After a particularly gruelling day at the construction site, Dean decides he needs to take this weekend to relax properly. Most weekends he would spend cooking, cleaning, and running errands, with the occasional beer and board games with Charlie. But Dean had to admit that Rufus was right – he was no spring chicken. His back is sore, his knees spent, and his neck has a terrible kink in it that he can’t seem to roll out. It doesn’t help that Gabriel keeps talking about relaxing at the beach (well, the _nude_ beach, since being lascivious seemed to be Gabriel’s only forte), planting a seed in Dean's brain of stretching out on some sand, something he rarely ever gets to do. Dean contemplates asking Charlie, or maybe even Castiel, to join him, but after further consideration, he decides that alone time is what he truly needs.

Even amongst the chaos of the work week, Dean did manage to have some opportunity to work on his baking skills – as much as he would love to have pie from Two Truths and a Pie every day, it was definitely going to start affecting his waistline and wallet. He started simple, baking some cookies in order to satiate his sweet tooth, which ended up becoming a larger scale operation of bringing snacks to the site, making him quite popular among the crew workers. His waistline would simply have to suffer. Rufus had requested some double chocolate chip cookies, which would be Dean’s other weekend project to bring on Monday. It’s nice, having a hobby that can be shared with others, as opposed to the typical cooking that he would do for himself only.

Friday afternoon, as Dean starts his walk back home, sweating buckets under his safety gear, he regrets not driving Baby to the site. Castiel was right, though, since several crew members complained about car theft, which is definitely a problem Dean is not accustomed to. Back in Lebanon, everyone knew not to mess with Baby lest they wish for certain death. In Winnipeg, despite all the newfound liberties, Dean’s hometown reputation doesn’t hold any weight, but Dean is starting to think that it was a valuable trade-off.

As he approaches Osborne Village, he eyes Family Coffee’s sign on the horizon, and the sudden craving for iced coffee hits him. He knows that it’s not exactly a smart way to quench his thirst, but Dean can’t be damned to care much about his physiological well-being when he’s dusty, sweaty, and gross from a long day of work. Picking up his pace a bit, he marches on towards the sweet relief of an iced coffee.

Upon descending the stairs, he notices that someone he has never seen before is working the register, while Patience stands at the other end of the bar working on coffee. The doorbell chimes as he strides in, and Patience looks up with a customer-service smile.

“Hello!” she says cheerfully, and Dean gives her a small wave.

“Hey, saw your show a little while ago at The Good Times, you guys were great,” he responds, and Patience looks a little flustered.

“Oh, uh, thank you!” she mutters shyly, before turning away to distract herself with the coffee beans behind her.

Dean shakes his head and chuckles. He heads towards the register, the café somewhat empty at this time of day, with only a handful of what appears to be strung-out college students furiously typing out final papers. Dean slides off his hard hat, giving his hair a quick ruffle, which is getting a little long for his liking, but Winnipeg has kept him busy enough to ignore the need to find a barber. He hears a low whistle, which activates Dean internal homophobia fight-or-flight response, and he whips his head up.

Behind the register is the man that Dean hadn’t recognized. He’s broad, bearded, and the combination of baby-blue eyes and a newsboy cap that could either be read as “old man” or “leather daddy”, and he’s openly eyeing Dean.

“Hey there, goldilocks, how can I help ya?” he says, his voice thick with something akin to a southern drawl. Dean can’t deny it – the man is wildly attractive in that overtly masculine way, wearing just a white t-shirt and a sturdy looking black apron.

Dean flushes, adamantly attempting to keep his cool but he knows he’s failing miserably.

“Uh, hey…” Dean pauses to read the small nametag on his apron, “…Benny. Haven’t seen you around here before. And pretty sure I’ve been here every day since I moved into town.” Dean doesn’t know why he’s telling this man his life story all of a sudden, but he can’t seem to help himself around unfairly handsome men.

Benny laughs heartily. “Guess you moved here recently, eh? I actually run this place, but I left it in the capable hands of the kids while I took a short vacation.” Benny extends a hand and Dean shakes it, and Dean hates how weak he gets at the knees from just a firm handshake.

“The name’s Benny Lafitte, owner and boss man of Family Coffee – glad to meet a new regular!” he says, his eyes crinkling up in a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Benny, I’m Dean,” Dean replies, regretting that he’s not quite as presentable as he’d like to be coming directly from work. Self-consciously, he gestures to his outfit. “Sorry, I don’t always look like this, not exactly the best way to make a first impression.”

“I don’t know, it kind of suits you,” Benny drawls, and he gives Dean a wink. Dean can’t help but laugh at the irony of the situation – after many years of flirting with nervous baristas, the table has been turned.

“The name sounds familiar,” Benny continues, clearly enjoying how flustered he’s made Dean. “I think Jack mentioned you once or twice.”

Dean cracks a smile at that. He really does like Jack, but he assumes that it’s more difficult to dislike the kid. “Yeah, Jack’s been making my coffee every morning, great kid. Hopefully he’s only said good things?” Dean jokes, trying to up his charm to contest with Benny’s laissez-faire sexual approach.

“All good, no worries,” Benny replies. “I joked with the kid that I needed daily updates of the café while I was away. Unfortunately, he did indeed send me lengthy documents detailing everything that happened during his shift.” Dean laughs at that, and he can imagine Jack hurrying home after each shift and furiously typing away. Castiel probably didn’t have the heart to break it to his son that he was being played, since Jack probably enjoyed the task more than most people would.

Dean had yet to order, but Benny turns to Patience and tells her to ready an iced coffee. He turns back to Dean with another sultry wink.

“Jack told me your order, and no worries, on the house today,” Benny says, and Dean flashes him a smile and a thanks before sliding down to the other end of the bar, where Patience hands over the iced coffee.

“Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for coming to the show,” she sputters quickly, and Dean offers her a fond smile. “I saw you there with Dr. Novak and Charlie.”

Dean’s still not used to the title of “Dr. Novak”, but it’s what most people seem to call him (except for Jack, of course, and Charlie who’s adopted Dean’s nickname of ‘Cas’ over time). Maybe it was just another reminder that Dean didn’t need that there was an overwhelming gap between him and Castiel that seemed too daunting to try and cross.

He snaps back to reality, noticing Patience giving him a weird look. Dean needs to stop internal monologuing in front of people so damn much.

“Yeah, Charlie invited me. They seem to really care about you girls,” he says, and Patience nods.

“They really do. I’m thankful – Claire and Kaia can be a handful to deal with all on my own. Don’t get me wrong, love ‘em to death, but I can only do so much!” Patience’s face looks exasperated but fond.

Dean bids Benny and Patience farewell, with Benny shooting him another wink (and were those finger guns? Charlie had said that finger guns were another overtly bisexual thing). The iced coffee brings him momentary relief from the summer sun for the rest of his brief walk home. He texts Charlie, who has quickly become his queer fairy godmother.

[5:45PM] Benny’s hot.

Charlie responds almost immediately.

[5:45PM] _Sounds gay._

\--

After a long shower and a test batch of double chocolate chip cookies in the oven, Dean decides to order takeout just to avoid making more messes in the kitchen. He notices a litany of sushi restaurants in his area, and he’s not quite ready to reintroduce himself to sushi after a particularly terrible experience with Sam and Eileen in Kansas. Eventually, Dean settles on a burger from what appeared to be a local spot and decides to see how they measure up to Ellen’s.

Just as Dean’s about to settle on the couch, after an admittedly mediocre burger, his phone buzzes, showing a text from Castiel.

[7:03PM] _Hello, Dean. Are you at home? I have something to give you._

_-Castiel_

Dean can’t help but wonder if Charlie is pulling some sort of stunt, since she hasn’t stopped heavily suggesting he should “get freaky” (as she puts it) with Castiel since the night at the bar. Regardless, he types out a response.

[7:04PM] Heya Cas. I’m at home. Buzz is 5001, Apartment 501. Come up whenever.

[7:04PM] _Perfect, I am outside your building. Will be up shortly._

_-Castiel_

Dean’s eyes widen. Why the hell is Castiel outside his building? Realizing that he has approximately 10 seconds to try and look presentable for Castiel, he starts to panic. He had changed into an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs after his shower. After letting Castiel into the building through his phone, he scrambles in search of pants to wear, settling on a discarded pair of sweatpants on his bedroom floor, nearly tripping and falling while pulling them on. He hears Castiel knock on the door, and after quickly checking himself in the mirror, cursing himself for his unkempt too-long hair, he opens the door.

Castiel stands there, unfairly hot as ever in a loose linen button-up shirt and mid-thigh length shorts (which Dean definitely does not immediately react by thinking of _ham thighs_ , Gabriel be damned), and he’s holding a cardboard box filled with what appear to be mason jars.

“Hey, Cas, come on in,” Dean says, stepping aside to allow Castiel inside.

“Hello, Dean. Apologies for being so abrupt, but I found myself heading to you before I realized I have never actually been to your place.” Castiel sets the box down on Dean’s kitchen island before smiling at Dean. He’s relaxed as ever, something Dean has yet to get accustomed to around Castiel.

“It’s smells wonderful in here, Dean,” Castiel remarks, sniffing towards the oven. As if by cosmic timing, the oven timer dings, and Dean maneuvers towards the oven to pull out the cookies, setting them to rest on top of the oven.

“Rufus requested some cookies for Monday, so I had to do a test trial,” Dean explains, and Castiel tilts his head to the right.

“Dean, I thought you were a project manager, not the construction site caterer,” he jokes, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“I’ve developed a bit of a baking hobby, evidently,” he says, patting his slightly protruding belly, which makes Castiel laugh. “Been bringing my baking to the site, and it’s gone over pretty well, so much so that I’m getting requests. You’ll have to let me know how these taste – still not sure what kind of chocolate chips are best.” Dean moves towards the box Castiel had brought in. “What’s all this?”

Castiel pulls out a few jars. “These are some preserves from my garden. I thought you might like some of these.” The box had nine jars: 3 of them had strawberry jam, some other unidentifiable fruit preserves, and one jar of what appears to be homemade giardiniera. Dean recoils a bit internally but tries not to show it. Dean was never a fan of anything pickled, but he’s not surprised Castiel forgot that over twenty years.

“I know you’re not a fan of pickles,” Castiel continues, proving Dean wrong once again, “but I figured it might be useful regardless. Never know when you might host a dinner party after all.”

Dean laughs at that. “Dude, I’ve barely even thought of having people over, and this place is probably too tiny to have anything like a dinner party.” Castiel looks around, and he realizes Dean is probably right.

“I mean, I was barely prepared to let you into my space, which is why I look like…well, this.”

Dean gestures towards his sloppy appearance, instinctively running his fingers through his hair to move it out of his face. Castiel’s gaze definitely lingers on his hair, his eyes darkening a bit.

“You look fine, Dean,” he says simply. “And I’m quite fond of your hair longer. I always wondered what it would look like if you hadn’t kept it so cropped.”

Dean doesn’t know how much more male flirtation he can take in one day, especially from Benny and Castiel. Castiel is looking at him so fondly that he starts to feel queasy.

“Jeez, Cas, you sure know how to charm a guy, don’t you?” Dean laughs, trying to cover up how uncomfortable he feels. Castiel tilts his head again and squints.

“In my experience I have not been the most charming individual,” Castiel ponders, and Dean relaxes under his seriousness. He grabs one of the cookies, which is still a little hot, but he offers it to Castiel anyway.

“Don’t sell yourself short, this whole city seems utterly charmed by you, Cas,” Dean asserts. “Here, try this. Let me know if I should use a darker chocolate.”

Castiel chews thoughtfully. “I think the milk chocolate is fine, Dean,” he says assuredly. “Besides, if Rufus wanted double chocolate, something tells me he’s telling you to cater to his sweet tooth.”

Dean nods, jotting a note down on the recipe card he had drafted.

They chat a while longer about the cookies, and Castiel seems like he has something he wants to say, but his phone interrupts him with an alarm. He stares at his phone for a bit before muttering something under his breath and typing something out. He looks up at Dean apologetically.

“I’m sorry Dean, I need to get going; I need to pick up Jack from across town.” Dean nods, but he realizes he doesn’t know if Castiel even owns a car.

“Cas, do you have a car? I don’t think I saw one at your place,” and Castiel shakes his head.

“No, I was planning to meet him and take him home by bus. He’s finishing up his volunteer shift at the community centre, and I needed to talk to the volunteer lead about something anyway so I figured I would just go myself –”

Before Castiel can finish his sentence, Dean grabs his car keys from the countertop and points to the door.

“C’mon, I’ll drive you.”

Castiel’s jaw drops. “Dean, I don’t want to impose…”

Dean cuts him off again. “Don’t be silly, Cas. I love driving, hardly get to do it these days. Besides, you’ve never been for a ride in the impala yet!”

Castiel smiles and Dean senses a bit of excitement. “That is true, Dean. I suppose I would be a fool to turn down that opportunity.”

Before heading out, Castiel assures Dean that he doesn’t need to get changed, despite Dean insisting he looked too sloppy to be seen in public, and they head out the door.

Castiel can’t wipe the grin on his face while Baby roars at a responsible speed down Pembina highway. Dean mentions that Castiel needs the true experience of speeding down the freeways, but Castiel looks more than pleased just to be in the impala.

The community centre is only a short drive away, and so they arrive about fifteen minutes before Jack would finish his shift. They step outside and lean against the hood of the impala, chatting lightly about Jack’s volunteering. Public schools required volunteer hours, but luckily Jack thoroughly enjoyed what he did, which was conducting evening/after school programming for neighbourhood children. Castiel explained that many households in the area are either single parents or parents who both work, which makes free programming like this invaluable for the community. Castiel slips into the building at the end of the fifteen minutes, and Dean wonders if they’re accepting adult volunteers.

When Jack exits the building with Castiel, his jaw is on the floor as his eyes fall upon Baby. Dean swells with pride – he hadn’t taken her to get washed in a while, but he knew she still looked impressive as always.

“Holy moly,” ( _of course Jack doesn’t swear_ , Dean thinks fondly) “Dean! Is this your car?”

Dean smiles proudly and nods. “Yup, this is my baby, the one and only.” Jack circles the car in awe, pointing at all sorts of things asking for explanations from Dean. Eventually, Dean opens the passenger door and motions for Jack to get him.

“C’mon, let’s go drive,” Dean says, and Jack immediately turns to Castiel with childlike glee in his eyes.

“Can we, dad?” he shouts, and Castiel rolls his eyes in pretend exasperation.

“Fine. We can go.”

Jack practically dives into the passenger seat, giddy with excitement. Castiel locks eyes with Dean and gives him a stern look. Dean challenges it with a smirk.

“Don’t look so put out, Cas. I’ll let you ride shotgun next time,” he teases, and that manages to crack a smile out of Castiel, his façade broken.

Dean asks Castiel for directions to get out of city limits, and they roar down the highway, Jack nearly losing his mind with joy. Castiel can’t contain his joy either, although Dean shuts down his question surrounding fuel efficiency. At one point, Jack takes a break from yelling “THIS IS AWESOME” to turn to Dean.

“Hey, Dean!” he yells over the roar of the impala, “what’s that on your t-shirt?”

Dean squints at him, assuming he must have a food stain on it, but he realizes he’s wearing his Led Zeppelin t-shirt. He gapes at Jack in disbelief. “Dude. You don’t know about Led Zeppelin?!”

Jack shakes his head innocently and Dean turns his head to Castiel, who instinctively reminds Dean to keep his eyes on the road.

“Cas, have you seriously not told Jack about Led Zeppelin? What have you been teaching this kid?” he says in disbelief, and Castiel just scoffs.

“Dean, there are other musicians besides Led Zeppelin,” Castiel deadpans, and Dean dramatically turns his attention back to the road to signal dismissing Castiel’s sacrilegious comment.

“Maybe so, sweetheart, but Zeppelin’s number one.” Dean points to the glove department in front of Jack, telling him to pull out a cassette before sliding it in.

“Now, my young padawans, _this_ is the real experience.”

The drove for about an hour and a half before Dean decided it was getting a bit late, and as they turn back towards Winnipeg, Jack points out a hotdog stand that advertised ice cream, so despite Castiel’s protests, Dean pulls into the lot, orders some ice cream for the three of them (vanilla for Castiel, strawberry for Dean, and chocolate for Jack), and they sit on a nearby picnic bench. Several people compliment Dean’s car as they hang out, which Dean enjoys more than he's willing to admit, and when he looks at Jack and Castiel sitting across from him, relaxed against the fading prairie skyline, he feels something warm swell inside him. He can’t help but wonder if this is what those road trips he and Castiel had planned would have been like – lazy evenings of drives and ice cream.

He wonders if it’s too late to start now.

\--

Dean had found some old maps from his dad’s room and laid them all out on the living room floor. Castiel was at his house, and since it was wintertime, they were both getting a bit of cabin fever from being stuck indoors when it was admittedly too cold to ride their bikes around town.

Castiel stared at the maps in confusion, tilting his head as he always did whenever Dean was up to some shenanigans.

“Dean, what’s this for?” Castiel asked, nursing a mug of hot cocoa that Dean had made him after Sam demanded some, claiming it was necessary for him to get into the ‘Christmas Spirit’.

Dean placed his hands on hips proudly, given Castiel a toothy grin.

“Well, Cas,” he said, voice full of ambition, “we’re gonna plan a road trip!”

Castiel took a sip from his mug, expression unchanging. “Dean,” he started, “it’s the dead of winter. Neither of us are old enough to drive. What makes you think we can go on a road trip?” Dean groans in exasperation before plopping down on the floor next to the maps, pulling a pen and a pad of sticky notes he had lifted from the school.

“Well, no shit, Cas,” Dean deadpanned. “What we’re gonna do is plan the road trip that we’ll _eventually_ go on once we’re in senior year, cause by then, Dad should let me borrow the impala.” Castiel crooked an eyebrow at him as if to say _John Winchester would never let you touch the impala_ , which Dean pointedly ignored. He motioned Castiel towards him.

“Get your butt over here and help me out!”

And over that Christmas break they planned out their ridiculous dream road trip, with no understandings of the mechanics of long-distance travel, but with plenty of circles and arrows to attractions and landmarks that they wanted to see, Castiel focusing, for some reason, on bodies of water as what he wanted to see the most.

Those maps, defaced and sticky-noted to hell and back, are still in a shoebox somewhere back home in Dean’s apartment. Dean hasn’t pulled them out since Castiel left, but he’s never wanted to have them in his hands more than he does right now.

\--

When Dean pulls back up to Castiel’s house, Jack is already nodding off, full of ice cream and exhaustion from the adrenaline. When they step out of the vehicle, Jack pulls Dean into a sleepy hug, taking him by surprise.

“You’re the coolest,” he mumbles, barely coherent as Dean laughs and pats him on the back, as Castiel gently pries him off of Dean and ushers him inside. Castiel turns around to face Dean, and under the yellow porch light, he looks like an angel – glowing in his loose linen shirt, his expression kind and gentle.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says softly. Dean shrugs.

“It’s nothing, Cas. Besides, just making good on that road trip we never got to go on.”

For some reason, Dean braces himself for a negative reaction from Castiel, but instead he just smiles wider. “I remember, Dean.” He pauses, his face unreadable.

“Dean, I… I never got to –”

Dean holds his hands up, offering Castiel a small smile. He didn’t want to talk about that right now, not here when he isn’t ready.

“Cas, we can talk about that later. I’m not going anywhere. Just…just not tonight, okay?” Castiel nods, before closing the gap between them and pulling Dean into a hug.

It’s strange hugging Castiel after all these years. His body is warm, strong lines and big palms flat against Dean’s back. Dean feels himself mold into the hug, worried that he’s going to never let go but allowing himself to revel in it for a while longer. When they pull back, Dean puts his hands on Castiel’s shoulders.

He clears his throat. “I promise I’ll take you out on a proper trip some time, Cas.” Castiel raises an eyebrow, and Dean flushes with the realization of what he implied.

He stutters nervously, “N-Not like that, I mean, I don’t want to make you…” but this time Castiel interrupts him, pressing one of his fingers to Dean’s mouth to silence him.

“I would like that very much, Dean.”

Dean could stay under that porch light forever, but eventually Castiel turns in and Dean driving back home. When Dean walks back into his apartment, he stares at himself in the mirror by the entryway. Running a hand through his hair, which was starting to flop in front of his face, he decides to leave it be.

\--

Dean wakes up Saturday morning in a haze. He had vaguely planned of hitting up the beach today, but after yesterday (and really the past few weeks), Dean starts to feel overwhelmed.

Everything about Winnipeg was too easy. After years of internal struggle, of forgetting Castiel to move on from the pain, of working hard to make something of Sam and himself, suddenly things were just…happening without resistance. Dean can’t help but feel like this is all one big practical joke, that eventually he’ll realize that he’s in some Truman Show dystopia. Feeling his heart rate pick up, he jumps out of bed and heads towards the balcony.

It’s already ten in the morning, and the sun is high in the sky, its rays beating down on Dean. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to focus on the ambient noise of the neighborhood. He breathes out, staring at the sidewalk below him, watching a father wheel his son in a stroller.

“I need to call Bobby.”

Years ago, when Sam relocated to Kansas City, Dean had enlisted the help of Ash to get Bobby accustomed to using Skype so that they could keep in touch. Dean knew that Bobby would already be awake, so he shoots Bobby a text.

[10:15AM] Hey Bobby, you available for a Skype chat? Need to talk to you.

Dean sets his phone down to find a shirt to wear. No matter how close he and Bobby are, some boundaries still have to be respected. After a few minutes, Bobby responds.

[10:18AM] _Of course Dean give me a few minutes_

Based on his lack of punctuation, he figures Bobby is using speech-to-text, something else Ash had taught him after too many times at the shop watching Bobby nearly chuck his phone at the wall trying to type.

Around ten thirty, Dean finds himself seated on the couch, laptop settled on a small ottoman in front of him, with Bobby’s face on the screen.

“So, what’s on your mind, boy?” Bobby asks, his voice still that signature combination of gruff and paternal even through the tinny laptop speakers. Dean would have to ask Charlie about getting a new laptop soon.

Dean sighs. “I don’t know, Bobby, it’s just. Everything’s going great, actually. A little too great. That’s the problem. Like, I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Bobby gives him a soft look. “Good things do happen, Dean. Even to Winchesters.” Dean laughs at that, which elicits a stern look from Bobby.

“I’m serious, boy. Sometimes you just gotta accept the good as it comes.”

Dean nods, not fully internalizing what Bobby had said, but promising himself to take it seriously. Suddenly, Dean realized that there was something he never told Bobby, or anyone besides Sam, for that matter.

“I ran into Cas.”

Bobby’s eyebrows shoot up. “ _Cas?_ Boy, I haven’t heard that name in years. Where the hell did you run into him?”

Dean huffs. “Turns out, after the bastard ran away, he ended up in Winnipeg of all places. Has a kid and everything. Dude’s lived a whole life outside of Kansas.”

Bobby scowls, but there’s a flash of understanding on his face.

“Dean, Cas didn’t run away, and you know that. The circumstances were beyond anything any one of us could do at that point.” Bobby pauses, and Dean suddenly feels very transparent under Bobby’s gaze. “Is that what has you so upset? Cas?”

Dean rubs his hands on his face, feeling a rant incoming. He takes a few deep breaths, and he sees Bobby cross his arms and lean back, very familiar with the telltale signs of Dean’s-about-to-vent.

“It’s just… I don’t know, I’ve spent years, _decades_ , processing what’s happened after Cas left, not once did he try find me, and okay, neither did I but that’s because I was _pissed_.”

“After a string of people leaving us, Cas was the last person I expected to up and leave. Fuck, I mean Cas was the one person besides you and Sam who actually gave a fuck about me. Dad sure didn’t give a rats ass how the fuck I ended up.”

Dean takes a breath, avoiding eye contact with Bobby at all costs.

“And now, out of nowhere, with no time to prepare, Cas is suddenly back in my life? And he acts like nothing’s fucking wrong? Maybe he’s processed it already but I sure as hell haven’t. And now I’m just playing along, playing along with this… this charade of just being normal long lost childhood friends.” Dean roughly runs his fingers through his hair, suddenly wishing he could chop it all off right now.

“Nothing about us was normal! I barely feel like I know him anymore, how can he be so at peace with twenty years of _nothing?_ And then he has the gall to tell me that he’s thought of me over the years, making _me_ feel like the asshole for trying to forget. Nothing I do, even for my own goddamn self, seems to ever work out for me. And I know, I’m sick of the woe-is-me act, too, okay? But I wouldn’t be stuck in this rut if it wasn’t justified somehow.”

“I’m just…” his head falls into his hands, and he’s doing his best not to cry.

“I’m just so fucking tired, Bobby. I can’t keep pretending, but everything’s just going so fucking _peachy_ and I’m sick of ruining a good thing.”

There’s a small stretch of silence as Dean collects himself, steadying his breath. He wipes his eyes, still avoiding eye contact with Bobby, but ready to hear whatever he says.

Bobby’s voice is steady but calm.

“You really loved that boy, didn’t you?”

Any other time, those words would probably have frozen Dean in his tracks, but now, he’s just huffing out a laugh. Of course, Bobby knew. He’s always been shit at hiding his emotions.

“Yeah, Bobby. Yeah, I did.”

Bobby sighs. “So, what are you gonna do now? You said it yourself, you can’t do this forever. Sounds like you’ve got a decision to make.”

Dean nods, finally turning his attention back to Bobby, who’s smiling at Dean.

“I can’t tell you what to do, Dean, but for fuck’s sake, don’t be an idjit.” Dean cracks a grin at that. God, he didn’t realize how much he missed Bobby. Suddenly, November couldn’t come quickly enough.

By the time Dean wraps up the Skype call, it’s nearly half past noon. As much as Dean still wants to head to the beach, he’s far too emotionally exhausted to commit to a two-hour drive. Feeling spent, but lighter, and very hungry, he decides first to whip up some late breakfast before committing to anything else.

Dean realizes how badly he needs coffee, but he can’t bring himself to go the café today. Just the chance of running into Castiel or Jack right now is enough of a deterrent, so he decides to head to the Starbucks across instead, sending a silent apology to Family Café’s light blue storefront, hoping it would forgive him for his breach of loyalty.

The iced coffee tastes like dirt, but it would get the job done.

For a little while, Dean wanders aimlessly in the Village, peaking through storefronts and occasionally stepping inside to browse. The variety of stores was truly eclectic: from and underground piercing studio to a used bookstore, which stood across from a luxury clothing consignment, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason for who set up shop around here. He did pick up a few used paperbacks that looked vaguely interesting, but after one too many close encounters with thirsty commission-based sales associates at other stores, he decides to head back home, but as he’s crossing the intersection before the bridge, he remembers seeing people sunbathing on picnic blankets on the legislature lawn and riverbank.

Even if he can’t go to the beach today, he can certainly still enjoy some quiet time in the sun.

Remembering the blanket stored in the trunk of the impala, Dean rushes back towards the carpark under his building, grabbing the duffle bag in the back seat and stuffing the blanket and his books inside.

Because it’s Saturday, in combination with it being the last few guaranteed warm weeks of the year, the lawn and riverbank are chock full of people. After searching, Dean finds an empty, secluded spot near the fountain, and settles down near a large tree in case he needed the reprieve of its shade.

Laying his blanket out, he reclines, groaning under the slightly uneven earth underneath him, and before he can even crack open one of his paperbacks, he drifts off into sleep.

\--

He’s awoken by someone’s foot kicking at his head. Ready to fight, Dean scrambles up and turns around, but instead of some attacker it’s just Charlie, giving him a funny look.

“You continue to surprise me, Dean Winchester. Never pegged you for a sunbather.”

Dean couldn’t tell if he was blushing or suffering from sunburn, but thankfully over time the sun had moved to place the shadow of the tree directly over him. He sits up, making room for Charlie who sighs as she sits down.

“What’s eating at you?” Dean questions, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Charlie groans, throwing her head back. “Just coming back from a lunch date, total bust.” She pouts for a moment, and before Dean can offer his sympathies, she looks thoughtful for a moment.

“Might still smash, though.”

Dean belly laughs, keeling over while Charlie joins in, and for a moment Dean wonders if those laugh therapy hippies he had seen on YouTube were onto something. As much as today made him miss home, he certainly would miss Charlie a lot, too.

Charlie stands up, her stance defiant and Dean just stares up at her. “That’s it,” she declares, “no more queer moping. You and I are going to the gay bar and getting laid.”

Dean blinks. “There’s a gay bar?” Charlie rolls her eyes.

“Yes, dummy, in fact, there’s two, though one is far superior.” Dean would have to take her word for it, but Charlie has yet to steer him wrong.

“Gotta admit,” Dean laughed, “not really in a hooking up mood today. Though I’m happy to be your wingman.” Charlie beamed at that before pulling him up into a hug.

When Charlie tells Dean where to meet her that evening, he realizes he had napped for about 2 hours. Thankful that he wasn’t burnt to a crisp, though the extra sun would do no favors for his freckles, they part ways. As he walks back towards the Village, Dean remembers seeing a barbershop during a walk home one evening from a bar in a nearby neighborhood.

Retracing his steps, remembering seeing the large “Walk-ins Accepted” sign painted above the door, Dean steps inside without a second thought.

Stepping back outside, Dean feels refreshed, his hair no longer tickling his forehead. Bobby had joked that his hair was going to start looking like Sam’s earlier, which doubled the incentive to lob off the excess locks.

Although it was early in the evening, Dean could feel the fall weather on the horizon, the breeze nippier than it had been all summer. Charlie had called it “the call of cuffing season”, which is some young people lingo that Dean does not understand, but the city seems to move in time with the weather – the streets remain lively, but the ambiance is calmer. Dean makes a mental note to pull out a lighter flannel before heading back out tonight, his only remaining task of the day being cooking some dinner.

Dean had planned to spend the day alone, but he’s grateful that Charlie found him earlier. There is no reason for Dean to isolate and pretend he’s not moping, after all.

The thought of potentially meeting someone also stirs something inside of him. It might just be what he needs to get through the colder weather.

\--

The bar is located in the heart of downtown, and its name, Purgatory, is not exactly telling of what Dean is about to get himself into. Charlie texts Dean that she’s still on her way, so he opts to wait outside. Dean watches the people slowly stream into the bar, and the variety does not aid in Dean’s ability to predict what Purgatory would be like. From scantily clad 18-year-olds (who Dean actively avoids eye contact with), to drag performers dressed to the nines, Dean decides that at the very least, he wouldn’t stand out in a crowd like this. He spots Charlie from the corner of his eye, and she immediately points to his hair.

“You got a haircut?” she exclaims, her tone accusatory, and Dean shrugs. Charlie huffs in annoyance.

“You said you were gonna be my wingman, but instead you show up with a fresh do? Do you know how wingmanning works, Dean?” She crosses her arms, scowling as Dean chuckles.

“First of all, ‘wingmanning’ isn’t a word,” Dean says, which incites an eyeroll from Charlie.

“Secondly, it was getting annoying. I had time to kill, anyway.” Charlie drops her arms and sighs.

“Fine. But I swear, if this affects my ability to get some tonight,” she jabs a finger at his chest, her eyes squinted, “you’re a dead man, Winchester.” She grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the bar, Dean laughing the whole way.

Inside, the bar is pretty simple. Ample dance floor, pool tables, and outside of ominous signage leading to a dark corridor, it’s all standard fare for a bar, minus the excessive rainbow-colored decorations, in addition to other color schemes that he thinks are associated with other LGBT flags. Charlie takes him to the bar, ordering two beers before handing one to Dean. They clink their bottles, and each take a hearty swig.

The bartender interrupts them. “Hey Charlie, who’s this?” he says, and he also has an accent. _How many bartenders have European accents here?_ Dean thinks, before turning to see an older blonde man with strong features and devilish eyes. Charlie points to the bartender, then back at Dean.

“Balthazar, this is Dean. Dean, Balthazar.” Balthazar extends a hand and Dean shakes it, all the while thinking _what kind of fucking name is Balthazar_. 

“Ah, Charlie’s mentioned you before,” he says, his tone unreadable but Dean assumes it leans on malicious, leading him to shoot a glare at Charlie.

“Whatever’s she’s told you is a complete lie,” Dean deadpans, and Balthazar laughs in response. Dean’s glad, because Balthazar seems like the wrong person to have on your bad side.

The three of them chat lightly, the bar still filling up with patrons. The night is pretty typical: Save for an amateur drag contest where several queens danced on him (so much for not standing out), the rest of the night consists of loud music and dancing. While he tries to resist the pull of Charlie onto the dance floor, eventually he gives in.

Dean’s not a terrible dancer by any means, but he’s certainly never danced in an environment like this. The music is far from his tastes, though with every track that plays the crowd seems to lose their mind, so he assumes he’s more out of the loop than anything. Charlie seems to have her eyes on a short redhead in the crowd, and when they eventually pull away from the dance floor to grab more drinks, Charlie starts poking at Dean.

“Ow,” he complains, shooing away her hand, but she ignores him.

“Shut up. Wingmanning duty starts NOW.” Charlie not-so-discreetly points across the room, where the short redhead is sauntering towards them. Her hair is long and wavy, and if Dean described Balthazar as having devilish eyes, then this woman had devilish…well, everything.

She’s clad in tight leather pants, a lacy black top, and a wicked look on her face, and Dean can feel Charlie grab onto him as if she was going to keel over without the support. Dean’s theory about them having similar tastes holds true, though. As scary as she is, she’s incredibly alluring.

“Hi, you two,” she purrs, and, of course, she has an accent as well. Charlie quickly composes herself, leaning as casually as she can muster against the bar. Dean flashes her a smile.

“Hey yourself,” he replies, and she winks at him. She turns her attention to Charlie, who’s barely holding it together.

“I saw you eyeing me across the dance floor,” she states, and Dean deduces that the accent is distinctly Scottish. Charlie smiles back at her, her confidence slowly building.

“I’m Rowena,” she directs at both of them. Charlie still seems somewhat incapable of speech, so he takes over. “Dean,” he says, pointing to himself, “and this here is Charlie.” Charlie offers a wave at Rowena, who just smiles with a wicked glint in her eye. Rowena ponders for a moment before gesturing at the two of them.

“So, are you two a package deal?”

Dean chokes on his beer, and he hears Balthazar howl with laughter behind him.

“I don’t usually favor the men these days,” Rowena continues, trailing a finger across Dean’s chest, and Charlie looks like she’s about to implode.

“But I could make an exception for an evening with you two.”

She then turns her attention to Charlie, her hand reaching for Charlie’s hair, and Dean thinks he hears Charlie _whimper_.

Dean clears his throat. “No, we aren’t a, uh, ‘package deal’,” he says, trying to hide his laughter to save Charlie’s dignity.

Rowena looks slightly put off. “Shame, I figured the matching outfits meant something.”

Dean looks down at himself, and then at Charlie, and he realizes that Rowena is right. Dean had draped a red plaid flannel over a black t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and comfortable work boots, and Charlie is wearing almost the exact same thing.

“Oh my god, Dean, did you have to dress like a lesbian?!” Charlie yells, finally finding her voice. Rowena laughs, and Dean just flushes with embarrassment. Charlie’s shoulders slump before turning her attention back to Rowena.

“Dean was supposed to be my wingman tonight, but he’s not doing a very good job.” Dean rolls his eyes and downs the rest of his beer.

Rowena’s eyes trail up and down Dean’s body, and it leaves him more cold than warm – the woman seriously looks like she could put a curse on someone. “I’d have to agree,” she mutters, “terrible at his job.” She turns back to Charlie, her eyes filled with hunger.

“Ah well, doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun.” She boops Charlie’s nose, and Dean thinks Charlie’s about to faint. “Come find me at the end of the night, Charlie,” Rowena whispers before turning away and heading back towards the dancefloor. Dean raises his eyebrows and looks at Charlie, who’s speechless. She eventually looks at Dean, her eyes wide in disbelief.

He smirks at her. “Looks like you owe me a beer.”

As the night draws to a close, Dean sees Charlie off, who has Rowena in the crook of her arm and the goofiest grin plastered on her face. Dean takes a moment to breathe in the refreshing nighttime air, fiddling with his phone to order a ride home. Before he can get to the app, he feels a tap on his shoulder.

When he turns around, he sees Benny, taking a draw from a cigarette. He’s dressed in the same hat, but in place of an apron a sturdy looking leather jacket that seemed far too warm for the August weather.

“Fancy seein’ you here,” Benny drawls, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“Could say the same to you, Benny,” Dean responds. “Didn’t take you for an electronic pop music kinda guy.”

Benny laughs, stomping his cigarette with his boot. “I think I was on the same duty as you tonight, helped my friend leave earlier with a hot date.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, Charlie was pretty adamant about getting frisky tonight. I think I knocked it out of the park for her.”

Benny gives him a look, and Dean feels his stomach flutter.

“What about for you?” Benny says, voice dripping with desire. He steps closer to Dean, and Benny smells like leather and motor oil, which does all sorts of _things_ for Dean.

When Dean had said to Charlie that he wasn’t in a hooking up mood, he wasn’t lying. He still isn’t in much of a mood, but he can’t deny that Benny is wildly alluring. There are many places on his body that he would like to feel that beard.

But Benny was also someone who was tangentially part of his life, and by proxy, other people’s lives that he cared about. A part of him thinks about if Castiel would be put off by Dean sleeping with his son’s boss, but he shoos the thought away. His decision to sleep (or not sleep) with Benny would not be contingent on Castiel. Dean’s life in Winnipeg would not hinge upon Castiel.

Dean pats Benny on the arm, and the other man seems to immediately get the hint.

“Not tonight, Benny.”

Benny smiles, and thankfully he doesn’t look hurt.

“No worries, Dean. Can’t blame a man for tryin’, though,” he says good humoredly, before bidding Dean good night.

Dean forgoes ordering a ride and decides to walk home. The air is crisp, the streets practically empty, and even amongst the tall buildings of downtown, there’s an odd peace about the city. He passes by a few drag performers smoking outside, and one of them yells “See you next week, sweet cheeks!” and Dean winks at them, vaguely hearing one of them say something about ‘trade’.

As much as Dean misses home, he wonders how the person he’s becoming in Winnipeg will translate back in Kansas. Could he truly live in Lebanon again without the luxuries of self-expression? Ultimately, he decides that’s a problem for later, and for the remainder of his quiet walk home, he revels in the glory that is Dean Winchester right now, in this moment, a man carving out his own path without a single agenda to attend to.

**_and i want a love that falls as fast_ **

**_as a body from the balcony_ **

**_and i want to kiss_ **

**_like my heart is hitting the ground_ **

**_i’m holding my breath with a baseball bat_ **

**_though i don’t know what i’m waiting for_ **

**_i am not gonna be what my daddy wants me to be_ **

_**i wanna be what my body wants me to be** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics are from Townie by Mitski
> 
> dean is absolutely a mitski stan, no question


	4. slowly take root

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a thing must fracture before it can grow

**_though the ghosts of better days might twist my eyes_  
** **_  
gonna stand my ground, watch that sapling rise  
  
just as long as i’ve the strength, well, i'll raise that flag  
  
like a wisp of cloud from a mountain crag_ **

Among the things that have become constants in Dean’s new life (coffee from Jack in the mornings, drinks with Charlie on the weekends, and cookies for the crew), Dean is most happy that he’s also able to take Baby out for long drives when his social battery is drained. The prairies are magnificent in their simplicity, and the silence, save for the mighty roar of the impala, is exactly what Dean needs to replenish after a long week of being his new self.

He loves who he is in Winnipeg, or, rather, he is starting to love it. With freedom comes burden; the constant internal conflict of reminding himself to not feel ashamed, all the while feeling like he is having an out-of-body experience every time he so much as flirts with a man. There’s a strange pressure to perform a queerness that Dean is not comfortable with, and despite Charlie’s best efforts to explain to him that he doesn’t have to feel said pressure, Dean can’t deny that he almost _wants_ to behave differently.

That being said, he did draw the line at Charlie suggesting he wear short denim cut-offs.

But, as per usual with the Winchester lifestyle, just as things start to find a routine, a shift appears on the horizon. August is wrapping up, and with it the realities of summer. Jack would soon be returning to school, as Canadian schools start in September for some reason, and Castiel would be teaching full time, meaning Dean is even less likely to see him even casually for lunch. Charlie was also considering going back to school, and although her programming prowess far exceeds the degree qualifications, she felt it was time to expand her own horizons as well.

As far as Dean’s life is concerned, the upcoming fall season doesn’t have too much of an impact. The project is going well – Dean’s crew, including Gabriel, are hardworking and efficient. Rufus did an excellent job inspiring them about the project, emphasizing its importance, and it translated into their work ethic. The baked goods may also have played a part in that, but Dean was never one to let it go to his head.

Even back in Kansas, things are starting to shift. Sam, who has been talking to Dean about his dreams of starting a family, keeps dropping hints about “big news”, and Dean humors Sam, who absolutely thinks he’s being much more subtle than he actually is. Ironic, that a lawyer can have such restraint in the courtroom but zero tact about virtually anything else.

Ash had also told Dean that he thinks Bobby may finally be retiring soon, which is to imply that the shop would likely go to Dean when he does. The mixed feelings that surface when he thinks about it are too much for Dean to process, and so he shelves it for when he inevitably has to face it. Hardly anyone retires in Lebanon, but if anyone deserved it, it would be Bobby.

Changes are on the horizon, and Dean suppresses the uneasy feeling in his stomach. Change hasn't been too bad so far. 

It’s a Wednesday when Dean runs into Castiel at the supermarket. Rufus had given Dean the day off, taking over his responsibilities, telling him it’s his reward for all the cookies. He had to practically carry Dean off the construction site, since Dean Winchester does not do well when presented with kindness, and so he figures it would be his best use of time to restock his fridge while the grocery store would be relatively empty.

They’re in the pasta aisle when Dean hears Castiel call his name. He turns around to see him, basket in one arm, and what appears to be an entire carrot cake in another.

“Cas!” Dean exclaims. Usually, Castiel would be at work right now, given that it’s before noon on a weekday, but instead he’s standing in front of Dean, dressed down in a black t-shirt and tan drawstring shorts. Castiel is also sporting an impressive amount of facial hair, black and scruffy, indicating that he hadn’t shaved probably since Dean last saw him for lunch.

Dean’s eyes travel down further and stops at Castiel’s feet. He crooks an eyebrow at Castiel.

“Dude. I know you’re a dad and all, but really?” he gestures towards Castiel’s feet, and Castiel glowers at him.

“Socks and sandals?”

Castiel huffs. “I did not expect you to be a stickler about fashion, Dean,” he grumbles. “I was hardly thinking when I stepped out the door. Grading has… taken a toll on my sanity.”

Dean smiles. It’s nice to see Castiel somewhat disheveled, lacking the usual air of quiet confidence and assuredness that has always been characteristic of him.

“So, I take it you’re done grading?” Castiel nods, his hair flopping as he does. The desire to run his hands through it is strong, a gesture that was once innocent when they were children, but far too loaded for the pasta aisle.

Castiel sighs. “Yes, everything is finished. Now I have an awkward week between now and the beginning of the fall semester.” He looks up, eyes meeting Dean’s, and Castiel smiles. “I suppose this counts as my summer vacation.”

Dean laughs. “We take what we can get, Cas,” he replies. “Big plans? Spending some time with Jack?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Jack’s leaving tomorrow on a camping trip with some friends before school begins. Thankfully there are adults with far superior wilderness expertise tagging along. I’m not sure I have the energy or skill to supervise teenagers in the woods.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at that. “I dunno, Cas, you look like the trademark wilderness man with that scruff on your face.” Castiel self-consciously rubs his facial hair.

“Time loses linear meaning when you’re reading your twentieth hastily-written essay about poorly interpreted biblical metaphors,” Castiel rambles. Dean furrows his brow.

“You’ve lost me there, Cas.”

Castiel laughs, his nose crinkling in the way that Dean always found unfairly adorable.

“It is not of import.”

They chat casually, perusing the aisles, and judging each other’s choices ( _No, Dean, I am not pregnant, I just feel like I deserve an entire carrot cake_ and _this box of cinnamon rolls_ ). After they check out, stepping out into the sticky August heat, which made Dean further suspicious of Sam and Castiel’s claims of the cold to come, Dean turns to Castiel.

“Hey Cas,” he bites his lip out of habit. Castiel tilts his head.

“Do you have a barbecue at your place?” Castiel nods, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Dean grins. “Perfect, then how ‘bout I come over and make some burgers for you and Jack? To celebrate finishing grading?”

Castiel raises eyebrow. “Ah, that would explain the suspicious amount of meat you were buying, Dean.” Dean blushes. “What would you have done if I didn’t have a barbecue, Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It’s a yes or no question, Cas. Answer the question.” Castiel smiles slyly, enjoying how flustered Dean looks.

“I would like that very much, Dean.”

\--

By the time Dean shows up at Castiel’s place, prepped burgers in hand along with a small cooler, Castiel’s already shaved off his facial hair, and the ever-present stubble on his cheeks takes Dean’s mind to strange places. As Dean mans the grill, settled in the overgrown wilderness that is Castiel’s garden, Jack is practically glued to his side, observing his every move. Dean explains all the mechanics of the perfect burger, and Jack’s intense focus is so endearing it makes Dean’s heart hurt. Castiel sits in a nearby chair, sipping from a glass of homemade lemonade sweetened with some fancy honey that he listened to Castiel rant about for several minutes.

“Y’know, Cas,” Dean shouts over the sizzle of the grill, keeping one eye on Jack as he gently lays cheese on top of the burgers, “with a backyard like this, I’m surprised you’re not some vegan anti-meat hippie.” As much as Dean mocks it, he’s also thoroughly charmed by the fairy tale scape.

“That’s redundant,” Castiel retorts, standing up from his chair. “And I certainly haven’t lost all of my Kansas sensibilities. Burgers pretty much defined our childhood summers after all.”

Jack turns his head at that. “You mean when you guys would sneak into the bar for burgers?” he asks innocently, and Dean tenses.

“You told him about that?” Dean says to Castiel, who has a guilty look on his face.

Jack was only partly right. Ellen, who had noticed them loitering outside the bar as teenagers, and who had a general sense of their respective familial situations, would often invite them into the bar and feed them burgers. They hadn’t snuck in, that much was for sure.

“We didn’t sneak in, Jack, but we were certainly underage,” Castiel responds calmly.

Jack frowns. “That’s a little less cool. I thought you guys were like, outlaws.”

Dean laughs, plating the burgers onto toasted brioche buns. They each dress their burgers, Castiel’s featuring no tomatoes and far more pickles than Dean believed sane, and Jack’s dripping with ketchup. Dean opts for the classics, minus the pickles. Jack quickly wolfs down a second burger, Dean and Castiel both envious of his youthful stomach capacity, before they each decide to split one burger.

The evening is still warm, with a gentle breeze coming through. Jack keeps them both entertained talking about the camping trip. He would be two hours away somewhere called Hecla. Castiel says it makes for a great day trip, encouraging Dean to drive up before it gets too cold. Eventually, Castiel tells Jack to clean up and get to bed around nine, reminding him just how early he would have to get up tomorrow.

As Dean cleans the grill and Castiel puts away the plates, the sun begins to settle into the horizon, flashing bright pinks and purples across the sky. It’s grotesquely picturesque, the whole evening, really, and Dean tries to keep his cool. Domesticity and comfort being the things to cause Dean the greatest turmoil was, unfortunately, very on brand.

Castiel appears at his side as he’s finishing brushing the grill. He leans into Dean’s side, and Dean feels his heart rate speed up.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, his voice just above a whisper, “I needed an evening like this.”

Dean chuckles, trying to hide his discomfort.

“Ain’t no thing, Cas. More than happy to spend time with you and Jack.” He closes the grill, the action accidentally pushing Castiel off of Dean.

“Jack’s such a great kid, Cas,” Dean says, turning back towards Castiel. “You must be proud as hell.”

Castiel smiles fondly, exhaustion still painted all over his face. “Yes, I’m very proud. Though it wasn’t always so easy with him.” Castiel pauses, his eyes locked with Dean’s. “I suppose, in some ways, I knew what it meant to be a bad parent, so I already had an idea of what not to do.”

Dean forces a laugh, and although he believes John was miles worse than Castiel’s parents ever were, he supposes he doesn’t know the full truth of their relationship either. He looks up, and the sun had dipped below the skyline, a dark, milky blue taking over the night sky. Stars are starting to poke through, bright and twinkling against the quiet of the neighborhood.

He turns to Castiel. “How about we go for a drive?”

As Castiel dips into Jack’s room to tell him where he’s going, Dean finds himself pacing in the living room. Dean has no idea what compelled him to offer to go on a drive with Castiel. He feels like he’s running on autopilot, but it’s too late to back out now, and, truthfully, he does want to spend more time with Castiel. Also, he had promised to take him out on a proper drive weeks ago, so Dean justifies it as simply keeping the promise he had made, and nothing more.

Soon, they’re driving down the empty highways, the scenery of vast fields and worn-down barn houses becoming a familiar image for Dean. They talk a little bit about Jack, about Castiel having to explain why he didn’t have a mother, or any family, really ( _we were family,_ Dean thinks), and how challenging it had been to let Jack out of his paternal grasp and into the real world. Castiel fears more than anything Jack getting hurt, but he admits that he realized keeping him coddled would do no good either.

Dean talks a little bit about Sam, who Castiel had reconnected with over the phone a few times, recounting some of the embarrassing high school tales Sam would have omitted from his own story. Castiel is silent when Dean tells him that Sam almost turned down Stanford to stay home, and Dean quickly changes the subject. Silence on long drives is more than welcome, but awkward silence would never do.

Eventually, Dean pulls up to the shoulder of the highway and Castiel gives him a questioning look.

“Is everything alright, Dean?” he questions, and Dean’s already unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Get out of the car, Cas,” he says, “you said you wanted to stargaze, so might as well do that while we still can.” He steps out of the car, Castiel following suit, and pops open the trunk to take out the blanket he kept there. They parked right next to an empty field, the grass not too tall to be uncomfortable, and Dean sets the blanket down.

The moon is high and full, casting a white glow onto the field, and the stars are brilliant and plentiful. They lay there, side by side, but with a few inches between them, and Castiel points out some constellations and planets, though Dean can’t really seem to figure out how they made any sort of sense as shapes and figures.

They’re quiet for a moment, enjoying the sounds of nature around them and the open expanse of the universe above them. When Dean turns to look at Castiel, he meets those too-blue eyes staring right back. Castiel smiles, fond and warm.

“Your freckles have gotten more noticeable,” he comments, and Dean grimaces.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “sunscreen doesn’t do much for days out in the sun.”

Castiel’s gaze lingers. His face, glowing softly in the moonlight, looks so different and so similar to the child Dean once knew. Castiel sighs wistfully.

“I’ve always found your freckles to be so beautiful.”

Dean freezes, and he sees Castiel’s face fall at his reaction. Dean sits up, refusing to face his body towards Castiel.

“Stop.”

He hears Castiel move beside him. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

“I said _stop._ ”

Castiel raises his voice. “Stop what, Dean? What’s going on?”

Dean rubs his hands over his face, and he knows he’s about to lose it. Mentally, he sends out an apology to Castiel, but that same autopilot feeling returns in full force.

“Stop doing that!” he yells, turning to see a frightened and concerned looking Castiel.

“You don’t get to just say things like that, okay? Especially not after what you did to me. To us.”

Castiel’s face hardens. “Dean, don’t be ridiculous…”

Dean scoffs. “Oh, so _I’m_ being ridiculous? After twenty years of nothing, and I mean _nothing,_ Cas, you show up and pretend like everything’s _fine_? You left me, Cas.” His words are filled with bite, and he can see Castiel flinch slightly.

“Ever since I got here, Cas, I’ve had to deal with you just, just fucking _existing_ so damn peacefully, when I’ve been fucking torn up about you, about _us_ , for _years_!” Dean pauses to take a breath, and Castiel looks like he’s about to say something so Dean cuts him off. “And then you have the nerve to say you’ve been thinking about me? And telling Jack about me? When you never even tried to come back? How the fuck is that supposed to make me feel, Cas? Cause right now, I feel like a fucking idiot, and I’m sick of it.”

Dean entire body feels like it’s on fire, muscles tense and tight.

“Cas, I spent twenty years trying to forget you because I thought you forgot about _me_. So forgive me for feeling like total shit when I found out that you were doing just fucking _dandy_ while I was torturing myself, wondering what the fuck I did wrong!”

Castiel stands up, and although just the blanket separates them, they feel light years apart from each other.

“Dean,” he starts, and Dean clenches his fists. “if you think I’m not without my own turmoil then you are sorely mistaken.” Castiel’s tone is fiery, his eyes wide and furious. “You do not get to tell me how I feel, Dean.”

Dean takes a step forward. “Then tell me how you feel, Cas! Tell me how the fuck you feel, cause right now it feels like the last twenty years haven’t meant jack shit to you!” At this point, Dean is fully shouting, his voice echoing against the wide nothingness of the prairies.

“I never left you, Dean,” he yells, his voice low and gravelly. Dean rolls his eyes. “I was taken away, there’s a fucking difference, Dean.”

Dean gives him a look. “Yeah?” he starts, “then explain to me why you never came back, Cas. Sounds like you didn’t want to come back.”

Castiel throws his hands in the air. “Of course I wanted to come back! All I wanted to do was come back! There was nothing I wanted more than to turn that car around and come back to you, Dean!” Dean’s jaw tightens.

“And maybe I only got the nerve to leave my mother when Jack came into my life, and maybe that was too late for us, Dean, but do _not_ tell me I did not want to come back.”

The air is suffocating around them.

Dean breathes out. “Yeah, well good for you Cas, you fucking made it, and you have it all together, so sorry for coming along and ruining that for you.”

Castiel’s eyes practically shoot sparks at Dean.

“Cas, ever since I got here, I’ve been holding my tongue ‘cause I didn’t want to ruin this for you. But you know what? I can’t do it anymore.” Dean feels his fingernails dig into his palms. “Can’t say I didn’t fucking try, God, Cas, I fucking _tried,_ but when you look at me like you didn’t fucking _run away_ and leave me for dead, I…”

“ _Did it not cross your mind that maybe I’m doing the exact fucking same thing as you, Dean?_ ”

Dean blinks. “W-What?”

Castiel takes a step forward, his gaze never breaking from Dean’s.

“Ever since I saw you at the café, I was so scared of losing you again, Dean. I was so fucking scared that somehow, I’d fuck up and you would disappear from my life again. So, I did my best to keep the peace.” Castiel breathes, his nostrils flared and mouth tight. “And maybe I slipped up a few times, because I want you, Dean, _fuck_ , I want you so bad. So maybe I thought, fuck those loose ends, fuck all the things we left unsaid, and maybe I could have you for once in my life. Is that so fucking bad? Is it so wrong to _want_ you, Dean?”

It’s silent except for the sound of both of their laboured breathing. Dean unclenches his fists, but his face remains solemn. He bends down to pick up the blanket, scrunching it in his hands, and turns towards the car.

“Dean, where are you –”

“Get in the car, Cas.”

“Dean…”

“ _I said get in the fucking car, Cas._ ”

They ride in silence, and when they pull up to Castiel’s house, Castiel turns to Dean. Dean stares straight ahead, jaw tense. He hears Castiel sigh.

“Good night, Dean.”

Castiel steps out, gently shuts the passenger door, and heads indoors. Dean lets his head fall on the steering wheel.

And if he cries on his way home, no one will ever know.

\--

It was December when Dean found himself nervously bouncing his leg on a bench at the airport. The arrivals section, packed with families all awaiting returning family members, was hectic and far more than Dean could handle. Sam had just finished his first semester at Stanford, and although they talked virtually every day, Dean could not shake his anxieties.

Planes were one thing, unreliable giant metal beasts in the middle of the fucking _sky_ , but the irrational fear that Sam wouldn’t come back was eating at him. Around him families were reuniting, hugs and shrieks of joys everywhere he looked. He felt sick.

Dean decided that he needed fresh air. He zipped up his jacket and silently stormed past the crowds of people, ignoring the angry comments from the people he bumped and shoved out of his way. Once he made it outside the door, he doubled over, thinking he might throw up.

Dean didn’t regret sending Sam off to Stanford one bit – he was the one that encouraged Sam to apply to big name schools in the first place after all. He knew that this would eventually come, and the promise that Sam would come back was the only thing that made it easier to send him off. Dean pulled out a cigarette, a terrible habit he picked up working around construction sites, and his fingers were too shaky to even light it up. Frustrated, he threw the cigarette on the ground, angrily grinding it down with the heel of his boot.

“Dean?”

Dean whipped around to see Sam standing behind him, bags in hand and a worried expression on his face.

“Jesus, Dean, it’s freezing, what are you doing out h—”

Dean wrapped him up in a hug before Sam could finish his thought. Sam seemed confused for a moment, but eventually hugged Dean back, as if to say, _I understand_.

They drove home and Sam told stories of how much fancier California airports were, and how somehow, he still had homework to do over his break, and Dean was happy to listen to anything Sam had to say. For once, someone he let go came back, and Dean knew how ridiculous this all probably seemed on the outside but fuck it if he didn’t revel in the moment.

Their Christmas felt extra special, the house finally feeling full with one extra body. Himself, Sam, and Bobby shared a Christmas dinner that Dean prepared, which was far too much food for three, but the leftovers would sustain them through until the New Year. Sam joked that he should have left Dean alone earlier if he would have developed these cooking skills in his absence, and Dean threw a spoon at him.

When Sam left again in January, bags filled with gifts from Dean, it’s a little easier. Sam lectured Dean about his smoking habit before he left to board his plane, and Dean threw out the nearly full packet in his jacket pocket as he headed back to the car.

Sam would always come back, and that was all Dean could ever ask for.

\--

Thursday is a blessing in some ways – Jack isn’t at Family Coffee, and Castiel isn’t on campus, so the chances of Dean having to face yesterday are slim to none. He faces the day as if it were any other, and despite some of Gabriel and Rufus’ concerned looks, Dean thinks he passes off well enough that he’s doing fine.

No one represses quite like Dean Winchester, after all.

It’s all going fine until Friday evening, when Dean gets a text from Charlie.

[8:16PM] _The Wayward Sisters are playing tonight. Wanna come?_

Dean stares at his phone. He thinks about asking Charlie if Castiel will be there, but he figures that would be too transparent. Instead, he makes up an excuse.

[8:20PM] Hey Charlie, feeling pretty under the weather, work’s been awful. Gonna sit this one out, sorry.

[8:21PM] _Suit yourself. Let me know if you need anything, okay?_

[8:22PM] Will do, thanks. Have fun tonight.

Dean sets his phone down and decides to take a bath. The tub is small, and Dean would have to bend his knees, but the idea of just soaking in hot water is too tempting. He briefly considers going to the bathhouse, as it had a large hot tub, but seeing as it’s Friday, he knew he wouldn’t have much peace and quiet there.

Setting his laptop on the closed toilet seat, he reclines into his bath while he watches some YouTube video highlights of his favorite wrestler, Gunner Lawless. While most would not find this content particularly relaxing, the sounds of cheering and roaring and ridiculous feats of human strength are his comfort zone.

Just as he’s finally feeling his back muscles loosen, he hears his phone ring, indicating someone is buzzing into his apartment. Grabbing it from next to his laptop, he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Dean,” – it’s Castiel’s voice through the tinny receptor.

“Cas, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Please just let me up, Dean. I have something to give you. It won’t take long.”

Dean sighs. The last person he wants to see is Castiel, and he feels his neck tense up. He has half the mind to leave Castiel outside, but he figures he could be a little civil.

“Fine. Come up. Give me a few minutes.”

Dean lets Castiel into the building and slowly gets out of the bath, trying not to splash water all over the bathroom floor. He quickly towels off and wraps a bathrobe around him, figuring it would be decent enough to answer the door in.

When the knock finally comes, Dean grumbles, doing his best to compose his face into an emotionless scowl. When he opens the door, Castiel is hidden behind a tower of Tupperware containers. His expression fails to remain stoic, eyebrows shooting up.

“Jesus, Cas, what the hell is all this?”

Castiel peeks from behind the tower. “Charlie told me you were feeling unwell. I had some soup in the freezer that I thought might make your life easier.”

Dean’s shoulders relax. He’s still incredibly angry at Castiel, but he would feel worse if he turned him away now.

He would have to yell at Charlie later, though.

“Uh, thanks, Cas. Come on in,” he mutters, stepping out of the way.

When Castiel sets the containers on the counter, he takes a look at Dean, whose arms are crossed. When Dean scowls at Castiel’s confused expression, he realizes he’s probably wondering why Dean’s in a bathrobe.

“I was taking a bath when you called, didn’t have time to get dressed,” he explains flatly. Castiel nods, and Dean takes note of the faint blush that spreads across his cheeks.

“Sorry I interrupted, Dean. I’ll be out of your way now.”

Before Castiel can open the front door, Dean stops him.

“Cas.”

Castiel turns around, and he looks tired. Dean keeps his composure.

“Thanks.”

Castiel nods and slips out the door. The moment of relaxation long gone, Dean drains the bath and puts the soup in his freezer. He almost wants to throw them out, but a long life of food scarcity prevented him from even doing something as symbolic as that. It did give Dean some comfort that Castiel would be just as alone as he is tonight.

Flopping down onto his bed, he pulls out his phone, and there’s a text from Castiel with re-heating instructions. Dean rolls his eyes, _as if I don’t know how to reheat fucking soup_ , and he tosses his phone onto the bedside table.

Misery is what Dean’s used to. This air of discomfort and tension is what Dean thrives in. This is Dean’s normal. This what was missing from Winnipeg this whole time.

Charlie sends him photos of The Wayward Sisters, including photos of Crowley and Castiel. Castiel is smiling, but even through the photo, Dean can tell he isn’t happy. Dean wants to revel in Castiel’s sadness, he wants to believe that Castiel deserves to just as sad as he is.

But when Jack sends him a photo of himself holding an approximation of what s’mores should look like, he feels something inside him unfurl. Jack looks so happy, his smile wider than the ocean, and Dean thinks how hard Castiel must have worked to keep that smile on his face.

And maybe a part of him feels guilty. Dean knows that he’s not the only one in the wrong.

But seeing Jack suddenly fills in the rest of the picture. Dean and Castiel’s lives may have branched off at one point, but their lives are much bigger than just themselves.

Dean groans at the realization that he’ll have to work it out with Castiel if he didn’t want to royally screw up the rest of his life. The universe had given them an opportunity, granted in terribly deceiving sparkly packaging, and they fumbled it.

Before Dean can change his mind, he types out a text to Castiel.

[11:45PM] Tomorrow morning at family coffee. 10AM. Need to talk.

Castiel doesn’t respond, but his phone shows that he read the message. The damage done, Dean burrows under his covers, hoping maybe he wouldn’t wake up tomorrow.

\--

The unfortunate reality of the morning sunlight forces Dean awake right at eight in the morning. He goes through the motions of the morning, washing his face and putting together a quick breakfast. The promise of ten loomed all around him, and Dean almost wishes he never sent the text, but he knows that if he didn’t send it last night, he may never mend things with Castiel (or, at least, try to). He ponders if he really did need a therapist, as Sam had suggested several times and Dean brushed off as California nonsense, and while he searches for a clean t-shirt to wear, he thinks of what he wants to say to Castiel. He hadn’t quite thought that far, and even as he’s approaching the café, the morning sun beating down but the breeze cool on his neck, he still hasn’t figured it out.

He sits down on the steps leading to the café, wanting to wait for Castiel. Inside, the café is already full of, Dean presumes, students who have come back for the fall semester. After a few minutes, he feels someone plop down next to him.

Castiel looks like a total wreck. His hair is more unkempt than usual, his shirt buttoned halfway, and his eyes not yet adjusted to the sunlight. Dean gives him a scrutinizing look.

“Are you hungover?”

Castiel gives him a glare. “Maybe. Yes. So what?” Castiel stares at Dean’s face. “I thought you were sick.”

Dean flushes, completely forgetting the white lie he told the other day.

“I may have lied about that to get out of going out with Charlie last night,” he laughs, and Castiel glowers harder. “Though, didn’t quite work since I still saw the person I was trying to avoid.”

Castiel puts his head in his hands and groans. “Need coffee. Before conversation.”

“Alright, big guy, I’ll grab some, you stay put.” Dean stands up and heads into the café, where Benny is giving him a quizzical look.

“Is Castiel alright?” Benny asks.

“He’ll be fine, just needs some coffee first.” Dean gives Benny a smile, trying to look as cheerful as possible, but he can tell Benny sees right through him.

Benny sighs. “Castiel hasn’t been himself lately, but he won’t tell anyone what’s going on.” Dean hides his guilt and just nods. When Benny presses the two iced coffees into his hands, he levels his gaze with Dean.

“I hope this helps. That Castiel’s a special one, hate to see him that way.”

Before Dean can say anything back, Benny is already greeting the next customer.

When he sits down next to Castiel, who eagerly grabs at the coffee, moaning at the first sip, the guilt of Castiel’s current condition weighs heavily on his shoulders.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel grumbles around his straw, half his coffee already drained.

Dean tries to think of what to say, but Castiel speaks up first.

“I didn’t want to show up hungover, doesn’t exactly paint the best picture for this conversation,” he mutters slowly, as if carefully thinking about each word. Dean waits for him to continue.

“Charlie could tell something was wrong, and so could Crowley, so they decided to get me wasted.” He takes another long sip of his coffee. “I haven’t had alcohol in years, so you can imagine how pitiful my tolerance is.”

Dean huffs out a laugh at that. “Well, I’m glad you made it out alive, Cas.”

Castiel turns his head towards Dean, his eyes half-lidded and eyebrows furrowed. “Are you? Sounded like you’d rather never see me again, Dean.”

Dean clears his throat, uncomfortable under Castiel’s gaze. “Well, I thought I wanted to be mad at you,” Dean starts, swirling the ice in his cup, “but it turns out I hate hating you.”

Castiel’s expression is unreadable. “Dean, I thought you hated me for twenty years.”

Dean laughs, his gaze fixed on the concrete below him. “I did. I thought I did. But I think in reality, I liked you so much that forgetting you was easier.” They sit motionless for a moment, the idle noises of the street above them and the café below them filling in the gaps of silence.

“I think I wanted to see you hurt, Cas. I wanted to see you wear your emotions on your sleeve the same way that I do, and as unfair as that is to you, it’s pretty easy to justify your own bullshit, y’know?”

Dean hears Castiel chuckle at that.

“Yeah, wouldn’t I know it.”

Dean looks at Castiel, who’s looking forward with a thoughtful expression on his face. He sighs.

“Cas, when you said you wanted me, what did you mean?” Dean watches Castiel, who doesn’t move. Eventually, Castiel sighs.

“When my mother told me we were leaving, she gave me a laundry list of reasons, none of them really involving her of course.” Dean nods slowly, not sure where Castiel is going with this.

“Among those reasons are the ones I told you, that she wanted a better education for me and more opportunities. Those weren’t lies.” Castiel heaves a shaky breath, and Dean resists the urge to hold him.

Castiel looks up at the sky, then closes his eyes.

“She read my journal. Naïvely, I had kept a journal of all my feelings and expected her not to snoop around and find it. Since I was thirteen, I started writing about how much I liked you, Dean. I wrote about how much I wanted to hold your hand, how much I wanted to hug you, how much I wanted to kiss you.”

Dean’s jaw drops. Before he speaks, Castiel holds up his hand.

“Let me finish, Dean. Please.”

Dean clicks his jaw shut and nods.

“When she found it, she cornered my and questioned me. She told me that you were a bad influence on me, and that she would not tolerate a gay son.” Castiel smiled, but his expression is grim. “She used much more… colorful language than that, but even well into my thirties, that word hurts to say.”

“She repeated over and over that she was taking me away from you, and that it was for the best. I never believed her for one moment, but I felt so powerless. I didn’t know that what I felt for you was wrong, but she managed to make me believe that it was.”

Castiel takes a breath, running his hands through his hair.

“And when you kissed me, it scared me so much that I didn’t know what to do.”

Dean just stares at Castiel, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Castiel continues talking.

“There are days where I wish I could just erase our entire history and start over. I wish I could meet you again for the first time, and it almost felt like that when I saw you here. You were so beautiful, more beautiful than I could have ever imagined you to be after twenty years. But then, I felt scared again. It’s ridiculous – I’ve been an out gay man in Winnipeg for years, but all it took was seeing you to have me retreat back into my scared childhood self.”

“I don’t know what happens next, Dean, but I owe you that much. Now you know, I’m plenty fucked up, and truly barely holding it together.”

Dean shakes his head, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Then that makes two of us, Cas.”

Castiel huffs. “So, we’re just two complete idiots, huh.”

“Something like that.”

There’s a pause, and Castiel eventually turns to Dean, his eyes tired but as blue as ever.

“Did it work?”

Dean furrows his brow. “Did what work?”

“Forgetting me. Did it work?”

Dean laughs. “Maybe a little, but clearly it hasn’t done me much good either. Neither of us seem to have healthy coping mechanisms figured out.”

Dean smiles softly at Castiel. “Deep down, I knew I could never forget you. It was futile, really. But I thought replacing sadness with anger was the only way I could deal with it. I didn’t know where you were, or how to find you, and eventually I let my stubbornness win.” Castiel nods slowly.

“I’m sure I could have found you if I wanted to. I mean, how many people out there are named Castiel?” Castiel shoots him a playful glare.

Dean grins at him. “I think I was scared too, Cas. Like, if I did find you. If we did meet again. I don’t know if I could have faced a reality where I could lose you again.”

Castiel hums thoughtfully.

“I wanted to find you, too, Dean. But when Jack came along, my life just flipped completely. I knew Kansas wasn’t safe for us.”

Dean puts his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel leans into the touch.

“You did the right thing, Cas. What you did for Jack is bigger than this, bigger than us.”

Castiel looks at Dean, before looking back at the ground.

“I wanted you to be a part of it, Dean. I wanted you to be a part of Jack’s life, I wanted you to be there to watch him grow with me.”

Dean reaches his arm further, snaking it around Castiel’s body, and holds him close. Their heads touch, sides pressed up against each other.

“We can start now.”

****

**_gonna lay down in the grass_  
**   
**_and watch that acorn split in two,_ **   
  
**_slowly take root_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from The Sapling by David Gray
> 
> this was a challenge to write, but i can never leave something on a sour note. :^)


	5. if you're about to leave me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> making promises feels too real, but time catches up quickly

**_if you feel like a liar_  
** **_  
if you're about to leave me  
  
if you can't sleep at night  
  
if my bed songs upset you  
  
and if my arms can't warm you  
  
you just have to try_ **

****

They move slowly.

There’s a different tension now then there was before. In some regards, they have all the time in the world to rebuild twenty years. In others, they have only 3 months until Dean returns to Kansas. It’s easy to ignore something undesirable, but Dean and Castiel have never been the type to focus on optimism.

They move slowly because what they have is still delicate.

They move slowly because it feels like they can stretch time.

September falls upon them, and they exchange t-shirts for sweaters, iced coffee for hot. They exchange lingering hugs, but not much else. Jack starts to eye them suspiciously, but he’s mostly content to spend more time with Dean. Charlie doesn’t say much besides occasionally teasing at Dean’s improved mood.

Castiel’s fall semester schedule means they mostly spend evenings together. Sometimes it’s dinner, sometimes just enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes it’s helping Jack with his math homework, sometimes it’s going for walks to the pie shop. Dean is there, with Castiel, and he’s as scared as he is happy.

Sometimes, when they sit together on the couch while Jack is asleep and the television hums quietly, Dean asks Castiel if this is real, and Castiel will take Dean’s hand into his. They haven’t put a name to whatever this is, an exploration that would be painstakingly slow for most, but when Dean holds Castiel’s hand, there is not a yesterday or a tomorrow.

When Dean tells Castiel about Bobby’s potential retirement plan, it’s mostly a slip of the tongue. They avoid talking about what will happen at the end of November with as much grace and silence as they can, but a façade can only last so long before the walls start to shake.

They’re walking outside, and it’s chilly enough to warrant light jackets in the late September breeze. Castiel is wearing a tan trench coat, hanging at his knees, unbuttoned at the front. It looks well worn, rough at the edges and the elbows, and Dean wonders what sorts of things that coat knows that he doesn’t know yet.

Yet. Dean’s not used to promises of futures.

They stop by Family Coffee to warm their hands and stomachs, a sweetened lavender latte for Castiel and a black coffee for Dean.

“God, this is good stuff, Benny,” Dean says after taking a sip of his coffee. “I’m gonna need to take some of those beans back home.”

He feels Castiel stiffen beside him, because he knows that Castiel knows he isn’t talking about his home on River avenue. As they leave, Castiel turns to Dean, his expression tight.

“Dean,” he starts, and his tone is firm. Dean gives him his best innocent look, but he’s not fooling Castiel.

“We have to talk about it.”

Dean nods, but he keeps walking, Castiel right by his side. Dean searches for Castiel’s hand, and they link together. Castiel squeezes.

Eventually, Castiel leads Dean to a bench along the river, nestled between trees along a long walking trail. They watch geese swim lazily on choppy waters.

“What happens when you go back, Dean?” Castiel asks, his voice small but controlled.

Dean sighs. “Well,” he breathes out, “there’s a few things.”

“Bobby’s thinking of retiring, and Ash thinks he’s leaving the shop with me.” Castiel nods in his peripheral.

“I want to take it, I really do. And, honestly, I don’t have much of a choice.” Castiel turns to him, his brows knitted in confusion. Dean coughs.

“What I meant was, I’m not really qualified to do anything else, Cas. A GED and working your whole life as a mechanic doesn’t really set you up for opportunities.”

Castiel is quiet for a moment. He turns towards the river.

“So, what you mean is it’s the logical next step.”

Dean nods. “Yup. Pretty much.”

He squeezes Castiel’s hand.

“You just _had_ to run away to a different country, didn’t you, Cas?” he jokes, and Castiel smiles.

“It didn’t stop us from finding each other again, Dean.”

They walk back home. It’s still unanswered, their future is still unclear. Perhaps it would stay that way for a while longer yet – another twenty years even. They don’t make promises right now because they’re still mending ones they broke over and over.

\--

It’s the beginning of October when Dean skype calls Bobby with Castiel at his side. Castiel tells him one evening that he wants to see Bobby, and so they set up shop in Castiel’s living room, sitting next to each other so that their thighs touch.

“It’s good to see you, Castiel,” Bobby says, and Dean allows the two of them to catch up.

Dean catches Bobby’s eyes a few times, and he has that same knowing look he had the last time they called. Eventually, Castiel excuses himself to use the washroom, and Dean watches him go.

“So, boy, have you made your decision yet?” Bobby asks, and Dean gives him a small smile, shaking his head.

“No fuckin’ clue, Bobby.”

Bobby nods. “Just because you come to Kansas doesn’t mean you can’t go back, you know that, right?”

Dean sighs, but his heart isn’t heavy. “I know.”

“It’s not about the leaving, Dean. It’s about what you do after.”

When Castiel returns, Bobby makes an excuse and leaves them alone. Dean pulls Castiel in, his chest against Castiel’s back, and they stay there for a while longer. Later, when Jack finds them asleep on the couch, holding each other, he snaps a photo before putting a blanket over the two.

Dean sees a text from Jack when they eventually wake up around midnight, and it’s the photo along with a message that read “OTP”. Dean texts him asking if that’s a good or bad thing, and Jack just replies with a series of animal emojis.

\--

“Dean, would you like to come over for Thanksgiving?”

Dean puts down the book he’s reading and turns to Castiel with a confused look. They had stopped by the used bookstore this evening, and Castiel is looking for new books to keep for reference in his office. “I mean, sure, Cas, but isn’t it a bit early for Thanksgiving invitations?” he asks.

Castiel gives him a flat look. “Canadian Thanksgiving, Dean. It’s in a few days.”

“Couldn’t give a guy some time to think?” Dean says sarcastically, and Castiel just smiles. “What if I had plans?”

“Well,” Castiel starts, his tone playful, “considering that all your friends will be there, I think it’s a safe bet that your plans are their plans, and therefore my plans.”

Dean raises his hands in defeat.

“Touché. Is anyone bringing pie?”

Castiel thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head. “No, I was thinking of just picking one up.”

Dean smiles. “I’ll take care of it, Cas. Can’t come to Thanksgiving empty handed, after all.”

Dean tries to make Castiel choose between pecan and pumpkin but he’s unhelpfully indecisive, insisting that they “both have merits beyond comparison”. Instead, Dean texts Jack, who immediately replies in all-caps “PECAN”.

“See how easy that is?” Dean teases, and Castiel jabs him in the side. They leave the store, arms heavy with bags full of books, and as they turn a corner, they run into Claire and Kaia.

“Claire, Kaia, lovely to see you two,” Castiel says, his voice adopting a somewhat professional tone. Dean snorts.

Kaia greets Castiel, but Claire is giving them both a skeptical look. Dean challenges it with his own raised eyebrow, and Claire smirks.

“It’s about time, old man,” she says to Castiel, who blushes. They saunter off, citing that they had somewhere to be, and Dean laughs at how flustered Castiel is. He grabs Castiel’s free hand.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I have a thing for older men,” he winks at Castiel, who just glares harder.

“That’s not funny, Dean.”

Dean laughs loudly, squeezing Castiel’s hand tighter.

“If you’re an old man, Cas, then so am I.”

Castiel grumbles. “I don’t think this is what is meant by ‘grow old together’, Dean,” he mutters, barely comprehensible.

“What was that?” Dean asks, smiling.

Castiel gives him a playful scowl, but a smile is playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Nothing.”

\--

Sam calls Dean when he’s in the middle of rolling out his chilled pie crust.

“Sammy! What’s up?” he says into his phone, which he quickly sets to speakerphone.

Sam laughs through the receiver. “Someone sounds uncharacteristically cheerful. Just checking in, what are you up to?”

Dean pulls out his glass pie dish that he bought specifically for this occasion, setting it on the counter. “I’m makin’ pie, Sammy. Canadian Thanksgiving, Cas invited me over.”

“Dean, you realize all this baking means you’re basically responsible for all baked goods at any get together from here on out, right?” Sam laughs.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Shut up. Eileen’s baking is probably still better than mine.”

Sam hums in agreement. “I think Eileen would be more than happy to have her baking throne usurped, to be honest. Also, what’s Canadian Thanksgiving?”

“Same holiday, but like a month earlier,” Dean clarifies. “No clue why, but I’m not complaining. Just means I get two Thanksgivings this year.”

“Yeah, if we invite you,” Sam teases. There’s a brief pause while Dean crimps the edge of his pie crust before creating weight out of tinfoil and sugar for a blind bake. He had read online that sugar was better than pie weights, and that the toasted sugar could be used for his filling later as well.

“So, how’s things with Cas? Haven’t heard much from him, but he seemed to be in a better mood last I called him.”

Dean frowns. “How often do you talk to Cas?”

“Once every few weeks, probably. He’s been video calling Eileen, too. Did you know he’s fluent in ASL?” _Of course he is_ , Dean thinks, smiling at the thought of Castiel and Eileen getting along.

“I’m pretty sure he’s just telling her embarrassing stories about me, which would explain her non-stop laughter. He signs way faster than me.” Dean laughs at that, and he knows it’s true. He had done the same when they first met. Sam had a penchant for trying to come off as some tough guy whenever he met a girl, and Dean always enjoyed taking him down a peg. He asserts that it’s for Sam’s own good, which is partially true.

“Anyways, back to the important stuff. I might be totally off base, and I totally get it if you hang up on me, but… have you guys talked about it?”

Dean slides his crust into the oven and sets a timer. He picks up his phone and hits the video call option, waiting for Sam to pick up. Setting his phone against a jar on his counter, he sits on the counter. Sam’s face appears on his screen, and Dean’s thankful Sam’s at home in his office.

“Not exactly the kind of conversation to have over the phone, Sammy,” Dean scolds, and Sam just rolls his eyes.

“So, did you?” he questions, a hopeful smile on his face.

Dean sighs. “Well, in a sense, yes. We talked about it. We maybe had a huge fight in the middle of a field on the outskirts of the city, but I think we needed that.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Seriously? Twenty years later and you’re _both_ still drama queens?” He laughs at Dean’s glare.

“Fuck you, Sam. Anyways. No clue what we’re gonna do next, especially after I leave, but we’re just sort of taking it day by day right now.”

Sam gives him a confused look. “Why would you need a plan? It’s not li— oh.”

Dean looks away from the camera, willing the blood to not rush to his cheeks. Sam is quiet for a moment before he clears his throat.

“You know, I always assumed that was what was going on.”

Dean turns to look at Sam, his eyes wide. “What?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean, you’re not exactly subtle, and neither was your internet browsing history.”

Dean flushes and scowls at Sam. “That’s it, call’s over.”

He taps the ‘end call’ button and runs his hands over his face, and his phone immediately pings with texts from Sam.

[3:15PM] _First off, rude._

[3:15PM] _Second off, I’m glad you guys are working it out. I can tell you’re happier, Dean._

[3:16PM] _Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?_

Dean stares at the texts for a moment before eventually standing up to work on his pie filling.

[3:18PM] _Leaving your brother on read? That’s low, Dean._

[3:20PM] Bite me

\--

When Dean arrives at Castiel’s house, he’s greeted by Charlie at the door.

“Pie!” she shouts, staring at the pecan pie in his hands.

Dean gives her a scowl. She smiles at him. “I guess you’re okay, too.”

Castiel’s house never felt particularly small, but with the crowd of people, it feels quite full. He spots, other than Charlie, a few people he recognizes – Claire, Kaia, and Patience are in and out of the kitchen, likely stealing bites of food. Jack is on the couch talking to Crowley, of all people, who looks mildly annoyed at the boy’s constant chatter. To his surprise, Rufus is there as well, who pulls Dean into a hug.

“Castiel invited me,” he says, patting Dean hard on the back. “It’s good to see you boys back together.”

As Dean steps into the kitchen, he sees Balthazar fussing with a bottle of wine, while Castiel putters about the kitchen.

Dean puts his pie on the table and grabs Castiel from behind, wrapping his arms around his middle. Castiel yelps, and Dean hears Balthazar say “oh my” behind him.

“Hey Cas, happy Thanksgiving,” he whispers into Castiel’s ear.

Castiel chuckles, the sound vibrating through Dean’s chest. “Surprises are not safe in the kitchen, Dean.”

“Gotta live life on the edge, Cas,” Dean laughs, eventually letting him go so that Castiel can turn and look at Dean. His hair is frazzled, and his eyes a little wild, but he looks warm and happy. They’re soon interrupted by Jack, who latches onto Dean, and he hears Crowley yell “Good, go bother him for a minute.”

When they’re all finally seated, Castiel having pulled out a larger dining table from somewhere and placing it in his living room, the table is full of the typical Thanksgiving spread; everyone had brought in something to share, and there is barely room for their plates on the table. It is ten people, after all, which is a much larger holiday dinner than Dean has had in a long time. Even back home in Kansas, Ellen would invite him over for holiday dinners, but it would just be himself, Ellen, Jo, and Bobby. Sam typically only visited during Christmas, or Dean would go to him, especially now that they have a much larger place than Dean.

Jack insists that everyone say at least one thing they are thankful for, interrupting Crowley and Balthazar who are already reaching halfway across the table to fill their plates. They sit back, groaning, and Jack looks thoroughly pleased. Charlie raises her glass.

“I’ll start!” she exclaims. Dean suspects she may already be a bit tipsy. “I’m thankful for this rag-tag group of wayward queers!”

The table erupts in cheers, mostly from the two bartenders and Claire, and Dean silently raises his glass with them. Rufus gives him a knowing look, and Dean shrugs. Castiel glances at him, smiling fondly.

They continue as such – Claire is thankful for Kaia, to which Kaia rolls her eyes, but answers the question with Claire as well. Patience is thankful for her job, Crowley is thankful for The Wayward Sisters upping revenue at the bar, and Balthazar is interrupted by Castiel before he can say something lewd. Rufus says he’s thankful for Winnipeg’s hospitality and his crew, and eventually it’s Dean’s turn.

Dean thinks for a moment, and it must be far too long because Claire interrupts his train of thought.

“Hurry up, old man! Turkey’s getting cold!”

Dean gives her his best dad glare, but she just sticks her tongue out at him. He clears his throat.

“I’m, uh… I’m thankful for making up for lost time. For reunions.” He glances at Castiel, who’s looking at Dean like he hung up the moon and the stars.

He swallows. “And I’m thankful for new beginnings.”

Thankfully Charlie shouts out an “AMEN!” and rouses more cheers from the table, saving Dean from having to say much else.

Jack blabs on a little too long about _everything_ he’s thankful for, and they humor him (except for Crowley who is audibly groaning, but Dean can tell Jack might be doing it on purpose to annoy Crowley). Eventually, it’s Castiel’s turn.

“I’m thankful for this moment right now, and for everything that led up to it.” He pauses, and Dean thinks he hears Claire sniffle.

“I’m thankful for struggles, triumphs, and struggles without triumphs. I’m thankful for fear, and I’m thankful for love.”

He raises his glass, and everyone follows suit. For a moment, Castiel’s eyes linger on Dean before turning to address the table.

“I love you all, you are my family, and you are always welcome at my table. Now, I think it’s time we dig in.”

“Thank fuck,” Crowley yells from across the table, and Dean laughs at Jack’s scandalized face. The food and conversation flow easily, and Dean and Castiel steal a few glances, as if they were a secret to the rest of the table. It feels fresh, juvenile, and silly, but Dean chalks it up to making up for never getting the high school romance they wanted.

Well, Dean isn’t ready to call it a romance yet. But it’s something close to that.

\--

When Dean turned thirteen years old, he and Castiel celebrated by robbing the convenience store. Neither of them had any money to buy much of anything, and so they tore out of the store clutching bags of candy while the cashier yelled after them. They kept running as far as their legs could take them in the cold of January, until they reached an abandoned barn just outside the town limits. They slipped inside, and it was completely empty save for some old hay bales.

Plopping down onto the ground, they spread out their spoils. Sam was at a friend’s house, and John, as per usual, was nowhere to be found. Castiel had told his parents that he was keeping Dean company, and if they knew what he had actually done, he would probably never be allowed to leave the house again. Dean sometimes worried if he was a bad influence on Castiel, but the boy was much braver and rebellious than he seemed on first glance.

As they picked through the candy, deciding what to eat first, Castiel popped a lollipop into his mouth and laid down on the barn floor.

“This would make a cool secret hideout,” he mumbled around the lollipop, and Dean, having picked out a chocolate bar, laid down next to him.

From where they were lying down, the high ceiling of the barn was almost dizzying to look at, beams of wood criss-crossing every which way, with a small crack on the ceiling letting in the sunlight and the cold winter wind. Dean frowned.

“Shouldn’t a secret hideout be cooler than some stinky old barn?” he said, mouth full of milk chocolate. “Like, what about a super-secret bunker underground with a million secret rooms?”

Castiel shook his head. “Not realistic, Dean.”

“Doesn’t have to be, it’s just pretend, dummy.”

Castiel turned his head to Dean, his too-blue eyes looking directly at him. Dean blushed, but the cold hid his redness.

“I’m pretty sure you could make anything cool, Dean,” Castiel said, smiling around the lollipop. The stick sticking out of Castiel’s mouth reminded Dean of the old cowboy movies that he would watch, and he turns away to avert his gaze from Castiel.

“I think I draw the line at stinky old barns.”

Castiel laughed, his voice brightly echoing against the tall ceilings of the barn. It sounded like a choir of laughter, and the way his laugh filled the space of the barn was intoxicating to Dean.

Maybe stinky old barns weren’t so bad after all.

\--

After the pie is quickly demolished, Dean basking in Castiel’s assertion that his pie is superior to the ones at Two Truths and a Pie, people slowly start to disperse. Soon, it’s just Dean, Castiel, Jack, Charlie, and Crowley, who are all splayed out on various surfaces across the living room in varying states of food coma.

Jack mutters from his spot on the floor, “Can too much turkey kill you? And if this is death, I’m ready to go.” Castiel laughs from his corner on the couch, his legs on Dean’s lap.

“Tryptophan is not that powerful, Jack. You’ll still be alive for school next week.” Jack groans, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. He pats his belly absentmindedly.

“Thanksgiving is the most delicious self-sabotage.”

Dean and Charlie both laugh, while Castiel, his eyes half closed, manages a snort. Crowley is not paying attention, already halfway asleep in an armchair.

“Such a way with words, Jack. You really to take after your dad, huh,” Dean muses, and Jack nods lazily.

“Yup, m’face, m’words, m’…whatever else, I didn’t pay attention in biology,” Jack mumbles, before his eyes close and he’s asleep.

Eventually, Castiel gets Crowley and Charlie up so that they can be home at a respectable hour, and given how late it is, Castiel decides to walk her home. Once they leave, Dean realizes it’s just him and Jack, who’s asleep on the hardwood floor, so Dean nudges him with his foot.

“Hey, kid. You should probably sleep in your bed, not on the floor,” he jokes, and Jack slowly opens his eyes. He sits up slowly and looks around. “Where did everyone go?” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.

“Crowley left, and Ca – your dad is walking Charlie home.” Jack nods, and Dean stands up to clear out the rest of the table.

“Are you gonna stay with dad?”

Jack’s words hit Dean like a semi-truck. His shoulders tense involuntarily, and he almost doesn’t want to turn around to look at Jack, but when he eventually does, he sees Jack is just staring out into space.

Dean sighs. “Well, eventually I have to go back to Kansas. You know that.”

Jack shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean.”

Dean’s quiet, unsure what to say to a sixteen-year-old about 36 years of trauma and turmoil that led up to this very moment, but thankfully Jack continues.

“Dad’s really happy whenever you’re around. And me, too. I’m happy too.” Jack says each word slowly and carefully.

“He talked about you all the time, and I almost thought you weren’t real. Like, I thought dad was just making stuff up ‘cause he never talked about mom, or anyone else. Just you.” Jack yawns, and Dean feet finally let him move back towards the couch, sitting a few feet away from Jack.

“He started being really sad when I started high school. I think he tried to hide it, but it didn’t really work.” Jack's voice is quiet. Dean nods.

“It’s because he was afraid to lose you, Jack.”

Jack turns to him and furrows his brow. “Huh? I’m not going anywhere.” Dean chuckles.

“Nah, I mean that you’re growing up. Becoming independent. Eventually, you’ll leave the nest,” Dean says, and Jack nods slowly.

“But… even if I do go, like, if I move out or something, that doesn’t mean I’m leaving dad behind,” Jack ponders.

Dean smiles. “Yeah, that’s right. You got it figured out way before he and I ever did.”

Jack hums quietly in understanding, before turning to look at Dean. Even now, Dean is struck by how similar he looks to Castiel. It’s disarming.

“So, what about you?”

Dean huffs out a laugh at Jack’s frankness.

“I think I’m in the same boat, kid. I’ll have to leave here, but I’m not leaving your dad. Or you. Or Charlie.” He adds on to his list, unsure if Jack is assuming something more than friendship between him and Castiel.

Jack smiles sleepily. “Okay, I understand.” He stands up, stretching big. “I think I need to go to bed,” he mutters.

“I agree. Good night, kiddo.”

Jack yawns in response before mumbling something akin to “Good night, Dean,” and stumbles up the staircase to his room. Dean sinks deeper into the couch, finally facing the reality of how much he’s going to miss _this_ , this whole place that Castiel built and welcomed him into, as if he was waiting for Dean to come along and fill it.

When Castiel finally comes back home, Dean’s half asleep on the couch. He hears Castiel before he sees him. “Dean, where’s Jack?” Castiel asks.

Dean stands up, slowly stretching out his back which cracks loudly. “Sent him off to bed a little while ago. He nearly fell asleep on the floor.”

Castiel smiles at him, tired and soft. “Thank you, Dean,” he says, turning around to clear up the table.

Before Castiel can do that, however, Dean closes the gap between them and turns him around. They’re inches apart, and Dean’s hands are around Castiel’s waist. He hears Castiel’s breath hitch slightly, and his hands eventually find Dean’s shoulders.

“Cas,” Dean starts, his voice soft and low. Castiel swallows. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel whispers back, his voice scratchy. "Yes, it's okay." Dean hums.

“God, Cas, I love hearing you say my name,” he mutters, and before Castiel can respond, Dean’s lips are on his. He bites gently at Castiel’s lower lip, who slowly opens up to the kiss. It’s slow, unhurried, and gentle. They hold each other tightly, Dean’s hands rubbing the small of Castiel’s back.

When they pull back, Dean can barely contain his smile, and Castiel, eyes hooded, lips red, just nuzzles his face into Dean’s neck. They stay like this for a while just swaying gently, a mess of plates and silverware around them while the hum of the heater fills the air. The couches are disheveled, and the pillows are strewn about across the floor.

They are different people than they were twenty years ago. In many ways, shed skin and years past make every touch new. But, Dean knows, that in every iteration, he would fall madly in love with Castiel.

They both know that Dean will have to leave, and they know that they’ll deal with it the best they can, but now, amongst a sea of chaos caused by family and togetherness, they just hold on tight.

**_i'm just waiting for the day_  
** **_  
that i will find a letter  
  
on the bedroom door  
  
i am such a coward  
  
i could win an award  
  
you may not believe me  
  
but it would be ok, be ok, be ok, be ok_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics are from On My Way by Cocoon.
> 
> this is it! thank you so much for reading so far. this has been very cathartic to write, and your kind words are precious. chapter 6 is a short epilogue of sorts.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr (URL thatisahotsoup)! happy to talk about this silly lil fic.  
> be well and stay warm! x


	6. in the faint light of the stars (epilogue)

**Epilogue**

Much to the chagrin of virtually everyone, Dean and Castiel still do not put a label on what their relationship is. They’ll share kisses on their walks, make out like teenagers in the impala, and bicker like an old married couple, but neither of them commit to being anything besides what they are in that moment. Internally, Dean doesn’t know if this tactic will actually lessen the blow of leaving, but what he is certain of is that this time, leaving is not going to be the end of their story.

When the grocery store project wraps up, Dean has a few days left before his work permit expires and he has to start the drive back home to Kansas. Charlie takes him out, and she’s more tearful than celebratory, and Dean spends the evening thanking her. Eventually, they are two queer crying messes, and Crowley quietly clears the empty beer bottles from their table.

On one of those days, Dean convinces Castiel to let Jack skip school, and he takes them out on a long drive up to the beach. The water is starting to freeze over on the lake, and they walk along the cold sandbar. Jack runs ahead, chasing after geese who are preparing for migration, and Dean laces his fingers with Castiel’s.

“Y’know, the one thing I missed out on was getting to go to the beach,” he says, chuckling as a goose honks at Jack. “Guess I’ll have to come back when it’s warm again.”

Castiel turns to look at Dean, a smile on his face. “Is that a promise?” he says softly, and Dean gives him a grin in return.

“If you’ll wait for me.”

On the drive home, Jack sound asleep in the back seat, they make it just in time before Family Coffee closes. Dean orders two iced coffees, and Patience just crooks an eyebrow at him.

After Castiel puts Jack to bed, they sit outside on his front steps, bundled in sweaters sipping their iced coffees. It doesn’t make any sense, but it doesn’t have to. Castiel leans his head onto Dean’s shoulder, who wraps his arm around Castiel’s waist, and they watch the cars lazily drive by on River avenue.

**_we are swimming with no clothes on_   
** **  
_in a river in the dark  
_  
 _and i am holding on to you, boy  
_  
 _in the faint light of the stars_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics are from In A River by Rostam.
> 
> maybe one day i'll write about their future, but it felt right to close things here.
> 
> thank you again for reading! dean and cas deserved better, and i'm thankful for the fic writers who have helped them live these lives.

**Author's Note:**

> all locations mentioned are fictional. city names, landmarks, and street names are real, though.


End file.
